


The Heart of Summerlin

by RedOrchid, salire



Category: Bandom
Genre: Assorted Bandom people, Bandom Bag Bang 2011, Class Differences, Courtship, Eloping, M/M, Music boxes, Nobility, Regency, Romance, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-11
Updated: 2011-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/salire/pseuds/salire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regency AU with a Steampunk flair. In the romance novel-patented, historically inaccurate time best known as “the olden days”, Lord Spencer Smith, Marquess of Summerlin has managed to fall head over heels with an oblivious Sir Brendon Urie, son of a lowly baron. Due to a fortunate twist of fate, the two meet again as Brendon is running away to escape an undesirable match his parents have made for him, and Spencer manages to convince him that the two of them should marry instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Beta:** [](http://piecesof-reeses.livejournal.com/profile)[**piecesof_reeses**](http://piecesof-reeses.livejournal.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> **BONUS MATERIAL**
> 
>  
> 
> [Art by ](http://redorchids.livejournal.com/139416.html#cutid1)[](http://saint-vee.livejournal.com/profile)[**saint_vee**](http://saint-vee.livejournal.com/)  
> [Mix: Together, A New Pace by ](http://redorchids.livejournal.com/139416.html#cutid2)[](http://lady-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**lady_writes**](http://lady-writes.livejournal.com/)  
> [Mix: The Heart of Summerlin by ](http://redorchids.livejournal.com/139416.html#cutid3)  
> [ ](http://quarterturn.livejournal.com/profile)  
> [ **quarterturn** ](http://quarterturn.livejournal.com/)
> 
>  
> 
>  **A/N:** Big thanks to everyone who helped cheerlead and brainstorm this fic. You guys are all awesome. We love you. ♥

  


  


  


The king was getting married, and the entire kingdom and more had turned up for the wedding. It was an event unlike any that people could remember; airships crossed the skies for months proclaiming the happy news, and dragonlords rode their charges far and wide, spreading the message to the colonies and to foreign kingdoms.

Spencer Smith, newly titled Marquess of Summerlin after his father’s passing, came with his oldest friend to partake in the festivities. Lord Ryan’s father was the Duke of Rosings, and in addition to three country estates and a small province in the West Indies, the title brought with it rooms at the royal palace far grander than those of Spencer’s family.

The two friends spent the weeks leading up to the event racing their horses through the fine woods surrounding the palace and dancing late into the night, watching merrily from the sidelines as troves of King Peter’s subjects arrived to show their support and pledge allegiance to the new royal consort.

The wedding went on for seven days, beginning with the ceremony itself and filling the days leading up to Prince Patrick’s coronation with tourneys and magic shows, an inventor’s fair and more balls than Spencer cared to count.

On the fifth day, he met Brendon Urie.

  


  


It all happened because Ryan was running late. Not an unusual occurrence, but one which never failed to annoy Spencer to no end. In the distance, he could see the first explosions of water from the lake, signalling the start of the competition he was supposed to be watching. He pulled out his pocket watch and winced at the time. How could it possibly take such a long time to change out of one’s riding clothes?

“Look out!”

Spencer barely had time to register the sound before something large and hard connected with his back, crashing to the ground in a mess of grinding metal and bringing Spencer with it.

Spencer cried out, pain shooting through his hip and one of his forearms as he tried to twist around. The thing on top of him was moving too, trying to disentangle itself from what looked like a complicated harness. Also, there were feathers _everywhere_.

“God, I’m so sorry,” the person on top of him said, trying frantically to free himself while not hitting Spencer over the head with what turned out to be large mechanical wings attached to his back. Spencer swore as one of them swept over his face, nearly hitting him in the nose.

“They promised it was safe,” the man continued, getting one leg free and managing to move half his body off of Spencer’s. “It’s a prototype, but the man who had it swore he’d tested it. It was supposed to be really easy to control, I swear I didn’t mean to take it so high. I’m so, so sorry. Are you all right?”

Spencer tore his focus away from the pain in his side (and the way one of the wings was still swaying menacingly right behind the man’s shoulder) and looked up.

And.

Oh.

  
  


_Art by[](http://saint-vee.livejournal.com/profile)[ **saint_vee**](http://saint-vee.livejournal.com/)_  


The man above him was exceedingly attractive. Dark brown eyes and beautiful features, combined with dark, tousled hair and full, rosy lips. He was breathing hard from fighting with the harness and wings, eyes bright and colour in his cheeks from the exertion. Spencer swallowed.

Before he could answer, there were people all around them, helping them both to their feet and pulling them in different directions. At least five people began trying to brush dust off Spencer’s clothing at the same time, asking if he needed anything and if a physician should be called. Somewhere in the chaos, Ryan appeared, and Spencer gratefully latched on to him, trusting Ryan to help him escape the thickening crowd.

He looked back over his shoulder once they were at a safe distance, hoping to catch another glimpse of the man who had crashed into him. The crowd was starting to disperse, and Spencer saw a flash of grey feathers. He craned his neck, trying to get a better view, and couldn’t help but feel stupidly disappointed when the only thing on the ground turned out to be banged-up metal and a pair of crooked wings.

  


  


After meeting the man so dramatically, it seemed like Spencer couldn’t make himself _stop_ seeing him. He was present at the royal picnic the next morning; Spencer spotted him on one of the blankets furthest from the king, sitting together with two ladies and a gentleman who all bore a striking family resemblance to him. After the picnic came the archery contest in the afternoon, then the water symphony and the banquet that night. Whenever Spencer saw him, he was smiling and laughing; Spencer found it hard to look away.

He made some discreet enquiries and found out who the man was easily enough: Brendon Urie, youngest son of one of the many new barons that had sprung up after the war with France half a century back. No one important as far as the court was concerned and with no real reputation to speak of.

He also didn’t show any sign of knowing who Spencer was, or of being aware that Spencer kept watching him. Brendon mostly kept to the sidelines with his family, never crossing the unspoken barriers between the higher and the lower court.

Spencer found himself more and more tempted to go cross that line.

On the last day, at the celebration of Prince Patrick’s coronation, Ryan Ross all but led him right up to it and shoved.

  


  


“You’re looking at him again,” Ryan said, in a voice that was half amused, half exasperated.

Spencer forced his eyes away from the end of the room and promptly fixed his attention on the dancing couples on the floor. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“The youngest Urie boy,” Ryan said. “The same one you’ve been unable to keep your eyes off for almost three days now. Really, it’s getting embarrassing to watch.”

“What do you suggest?” Spencer shot back. “Should I lead him into the garden, fall to my knees and read him a sonnet, perhaps? Because that worked really well for you last season when you were trying to court Lady Elizabeth.”

“I still maintain that she was taken with me,” Ryan replied. “How was I supposed to know she was about to be married? Court gossip takes so much energy to keep up with.”

Spencer rolled his eyes.

“I’m thirsty,” Ryan declared a moment later. “Go fetch me a drink.”

“Do it yourself.”

“Spencer,” Ryan said plaintively. “I’m to be a duke. You’re a measly marquess. And I’m a whole year older. Now scoot.”

“Technically, since I’ve come into my title and you are still to inherit yours, I outrank you,” Spencer said, but left to get refreshments anyway; denying Ryan usually took a lot more effort than going along with whatever he wanted, and tonight, Spencer just didn’t feel like bothering with it.

The refreshment area was busy. Since it was the last night of the festivities, King Peter had invited the entire court—high and low alike—to the banquet, and together with the foreign guests (not to mention the servants), they made up quite a number. Spencer navigated himself around a group of ladies and reached for the flutes of champagne lined up on a table, putting a light hand on the elbow of a lower noble in front of him to nudge him out of the way.

“Pardon me.”

The man turned around, his eyes growing almost comically wide as he met Spencer’s. “Lord Smith!”

Spencer stared, taking in now familiar brown eyes and lashes far longer than he remembered. Brendon had changed his jacket, he noted; when Spencer had seen him earlier, it had been a deep blue instead of the red he was now wearing. The red looked amazing on him. Spencer’s fingers itched to reach out and touch, to see if the material was as smooth against his skin as it looked.

“You know my name.” It wasn’t what he had intended to say. Hadn’t managed to think of anything at all to say yet, really. In front of him, Brendon’s surprised expression turned deeply embarrassed.

“People were quick to tell me,” he replied. “After I—Lord, I’m _so_ sorry. Knocking you over like that was completely unforgivable. If there’s anything I can do, or my father can—I’m sure he’d be more than happy to compensate you for...any...cost you might...” Brendon trailed off, eyes flicking uncertainly to his feet before meeting Spencer’s eyes again.

Spencer really needed to stop staring.

“I’m going to go,” Brendon said quickly. “Please forgive me for intruding on you. Again.” He bowed quickly, turning to walk away. “My lord.”

“Wait!”

Brendon turned around, looking vaguely apprehensive.

“Forgive me for not greeting you properly,” Spencer said. “I realise we haven’t been formally introduced, but please allow me to make up for addressing you so brusquely just now. I’m Lord Spencer Smith.”

He held out his hand. Brendon looked at it with a bewildered expression for a split moment before breaking into a polite smile and taking it. “Sir Brendon Urie. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Spencer said, feeling a smile break out on his own face as well.

“I really am sorry about the accident,” Brendon said, letting go of Spencer’s hand, some of the flush seeping back onto his cheeks. “It was terrible of me. I have no idea how to even begin apologising.”

“Consider it forgotten,” Spencer said quickly, feeling his heart miss a beat as Brendon gave him a grateful smile. “How are you finding the wedding?”

“Very grand, my lord,” Brendon replied. “I’m honoured to be a part of it. Being the youngest, I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to come.”

“Oh? Do you have a large family?” Spencer asked, hoping that the fact that he already knew the answer—down to the number, age, gender, marital status and occupation of all of Brendon’s siblings— wouldn’t somehow show on his face as Brendon launched into an animated description of his family, talking about how his eldest brother had recently become a father, preventing him from attending the royal wedding and thus enabling Brendon to take his place.

“Forgive me, I talk too much,” Brendon said a rather long time later, effectively pulling Spencer out of the haze he’d slipped into while Brendon talked and making him realise that he hadn’t heard a word Brendon had said but could probably describe exactly what his mouth had looked like doing it.

“Would you like to dance?”

Another thing he hadn’t meant to say, but once the words were out of Spencer’s mouth, he was fiercely happy that he had. Brendon looked up at him in surprise, but accepted, and Spencer felt his heart beat hard and fast as he lead them both onto the dance floor and took his position next to Brendon in the double line of a _pavane_. Brendon smiled, his hand warm and steady in Spencer’s as the music started and they took the first, slow steps.

“My sister and I used to get reprimanded by our tutor all the time for talking during this dance,” Brendon said, giving Spencer a quick grin as they started circling each other. “He said this was a traditional, serious dance that needed to be treated with respect, but I’ve always found it dull to dance without making conversation.”

“Indeed?” Spencer replied, unable to think of something more intelligent to say, most of his focus going into not staring at the graceful movements of Brendon’s body as they moved down the line.

“It just seems a little sad,” Brendon continued happily. “Being so serious about spending a couple of minutes in the company of someone you probably don’t even know. I guess it would be different if you were dancing with someone you were courting.”

“How so?” Spencer managed, taking careful, even breaths as they started moving together again, circling closer to each other.

“It’s probably silly,” Brendon said, throwing Spencer a quick smile, “but I imagine that when you dance the _pavane_ with someone you love, all these slow movements narrow down to something almost electric, like there’s a bubble around you shutting out everything else and the touch of your hands turns into this... romantic thing, I suppose.” He let out a small laugh. “Listen to me. No wonder my mother tells me I’m too young to have a suitor.”

The words effectively cut through Spencer’s dreamlike state. He looked Brendon up and down and frowned. “You don’t seem too young to be out in society?” According to Spencer’s information, Brendon had turned one-and-twenty that spring, more than old enough to be out, as most parents introduced their children at the age of sixteen.

Brendon shrugged. “It’s because I’m the youngest, I suppose. All my siblings have left home and three of them are married. I don’t mind. Being young and unattached means having a lot of freedom.”

“It does,” Spencer agreed, trying to figure out how to ask if Brendon knew when his parents might reconsider their stance without sounding too forward.

The musicians brought the song to a close before he could think of anything, and Brendon stepped away smoothly, letting go of Spencer’s hand and bowing politely.

“I should go back to my family,” he said, and Spencer desperately wanted to believe there was at least a hint of wistfulness in his voice. “Thank you for the dance, Lord Smith. And the company.” He made another bow, which Spencer managed to echo, murmuring a “Sir Urie” back.

He watched Brendon cross to the other side of the hall before breathing a sigh and returning to where Ryan was standing.

He didn’t see Brendon again for the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

  


  


  


_Two years later_

As the youngest of five, Brendon Urie had always had the good fortune of being able to slip under the radar when plots for family advancement were on the table. The Uries were a trading family of little consequence as far as name and station went—a long line of merchants, sailors and foot soldiers until Brendon’s grandfather saved the young Lord Austin’s life at the battle of Thrushcross and got awarded a barony for his troubles—but with a fleet of nine ships sailing around the world, their annual income was substantial.

What they really wanted, however, was a charter from the king, allowing them to set up their own trading routes to Africa and the East Indies. And with three of five children married very strategically to foreign merchants (and one daughter making a most admirable career in the Royal Navy), all they really needed to achieve their goal was a strong connection to someone at court who would vouch for them and promote their interests.

Which is how Brendon found his luck changing and was called into his father’s study one day, being told, quite unceremoniously, that he was about to be most advantageously married.

  


  


Spencer felt his carriage come to a halt and took a deep breath, straightening his cravat self-consciously before stepping out into the empty street. Just as the coach drove off, he heard a voice calling from somewhere behind him, and when he turned around, he saw a young nobleman running towards him with a big cap sack on his back.

“Wait!” the man called out, running past Spencer and going after the coach, slowing to a stop and swearing loudly as it disappeared around a corner.

He turned around, and Spencer found himself suddenly face to face with the man he had been trying to ban from his thoughts for the past two years. The man from the wedding—a little older and decidedly less put together, but unmistakably one and the same.

He was still devastatingly beautiful.

“Sir Urie.”

The man wheeled around, looking alarmed, then confused, until a smile of recognition lit up his face. “My Lord of Summerlin! What a coincidence.”

“Indeed,” Spencer said, trying not to stare as Brendon took off his top hat and pulled a hand through his hair. “Um. Are you—um. Are you well?”

“Very well, thank you,” Brendon replied, though something about his voice made Spencer frown. “And yourself?”

“Also well. Your family?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Brendon replied, and this time, Spencer heard a definite catch in his voice. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to think of something else to say.

After another moment of uncomfortable silence, Brendon pursed his lips. “Well, goodbye, I guess.”

Spencer blinked in surprise. “Goodbye?”

Brendon nodded, one corner of his mouth lilting up into a half-smile that made Spencer feel uneasy. “I’m leaving London.”

“What?” It was really an incredibly rude question, however valid. They barely knew each other, and it was really none of Spencer’s concern as to where Brendon was going or why. Or so he told himself firmly, pushing down the sudden paralysing feeling that started to creep up his spine.

Brendon readjusted the sack he was carrying, rolling his shoulder where it was digging in. “It seems my father made a deal with the devil. Or the serpent would be more appropriate, I suppose, though the metaphor is the same in the end.” At Spencer’s confused face, Brendon laughed. Spencer liked the laugh about as much as he had liked the half-smile. “My father has, in his quest for family advancement, promised my hand to Lord Saporta.”

Spencer’s skin prickled. Lord Saporta was... an interesting character. Not necessarily a bad person, and he was definitely on the guest list of every to-do in London that mattered to anyone, but. Gabriel had accumulated a reputation of sorts over the years for flirting with everything that moved and collecting rare, exotic—and often less than legal—reptiles from all over the world. Suffice it to say that Lord Gabriel Saporta was a gentleman in only the loosest sense of the word. Surely Brendon’s father had to realise this. “Lord _Gabriel_ Saporta? The Viscount of Ramsgate?”

Brendon nodded. “The very same. If my father has any say in the matter, anyway. And I aim to see that he doesn’t. My—” Brendon paused, unsuccessfully trying to hide a grimace, “— _intended_ came calling at the house today, with one of his friends. The Earl of Lancaster, Lord William Beckett, I think. Do you know him? The viscount introduced him as his most intimate friend. And then both of them spent the entire visit looking like they wanted to eat me.”

Brendon looked away, seemingly very ill at ease. Spencer sympathised fully; the Earl of Lancaster was even more notorious than his friend, and the two of them together frequently kept the gossip mill at court fed with the most scandalous and decadent rumours. No wonder Brendon was running away.

“Augh.” Brendon shook his head, “I apologise. I’ve been babbling about my own worries when you look exhausted, my lord.” He turned around, looking down the street and raising his hand to stop a coach.

“Marry me,” Spencer blurted, instantly wishing he could turn back time when Brendon wheeled around, eyes wide.

“Forgive me,” Spencer hurried to say, head spinning as he tried to think of something to limit the damage. “That was unforgivably forward of me. I just—” An image of fire flashed across his mind. A few months back, a rogue dragon had ravaged the Southern counties, and though Spencer’s estate had been left mostly unharmed, many others had not been so fortunate, and the court was full of high lords and ladies seeking financially beneficial alliances this season. The Uries were successful merchants, and if Brendon’s parents were shopping for a title for their son, maybe Spencer could—

“I’m in a bit of a desperate situation myself,” he ventured, carefully choosing his words. “And I know it’s terribly uncivilised for me to even propose this, but perhaps we could help each other?”

“How?” Brendon’s eyes were, if possible, even wider than before.

“I need funds. The dragon rampage this winter charred my estate and has drained me with necessary repairs,” Spencer said, wincing inside at the lie. “You need a title. We could strike a bargain.”

“By getting married?” Brendon sounded almost faint. “You’re a marquess! I couldn’t—I’m sure there are plenty of people of higher standing who—”

“I’m also the brother of two younger sisters,” Spencer interrupted him. “They have their titles, but the estate is tied to the me alone, and they need funds to recommend them at court.”

“I’m only the son of a baron,” Brendon protested. “Your reputation would be damaged beyond belief. I couldn’t do that to you, I—”

“Brendon,” Spencer said, feeling a spark of excitement from letting the name roll off his tongue for the first time. He took a couple of steps closer, placing his hands carefully on Brendon’s forearms. “Will you please do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

He could see shock in Brendon’s eyes, almost felt his sharp intake of breath as the muscles in Brendon’s arms tensed under his hands. “I would keep you safe,” he promised, feeling lightheaded by how much he actually meant it. “You would be free to live your life, and I would honour and support you. My family is old; it can handle a bit of scandal. And you could help me restore my estate. It is a perfect match.”

There was a long, painful pause, during which Spencer was nearly positive he would hear the ticking of his pocket watch if only his pulse wasn’t pounding so loudly in his ears. “Say something.”

“I,” Brendon stammered, bewilderment lacing every movement of his body. “I don’t—I mean, yes. Yes, of course I’ll accept.”

Spencer felt all the air in his lungs leave him at once and had to close his eyes for a second. A sense of relief burned through him together with something else—a deep longing he’d told himself he’d got over a long time ago, strong enough now to make him dizzy.

He took Brendon’s hand and felt a surge of fear and excitement when Brendon tangled their fingers together, squeezing lightly.

“So,” Brendon said, looking up at Spencer with a slightly wobbly smile on his face. “What’s the plan?”

  


  
When Brendon stepped out of his parents’ house, determined to get away from the fate they had assigned him, he didn’t even consider the possibility that he might end up in a carriage with the Marquess of Summerlin, running off in the dead of the night to a small country church.

And yet, here they were.

Brendon took a shaky breath as the carriage came to a stop, taking Spencer’s offered hand gratefully and holding it painfully tight as Spencer helped him out.

The church wasn’t really what Brendon had been expecting, though he wasn’t quite sure what that had been. Probably something similar to the churches his brothers and sister had been married in—something large and grand that could seat a thousand people if there was a need (and with his family, there had definitely been a need). Instead, this place was small—tiny, really—and the main thing distinguishing it from the equally small house peeking out from behind it was the lace and tulle framing the doorway and a small statue of St Mary beside the front steps. It was all rather quaint.

“This is Our Lady of Sorrows Chapel. It was the only place I could think to go,” Spencer said apologetically upon seeing Brendon’s face.

“No, it.” Brendon tried to smile reassuringly. “It’s nice.”

“Damn it, Gerard,” a voice hissed from the church’s open doorway as they approached. “They are not _charming_. They are a _mess_.”

Spencer’s eyebrows drew together, as though he was beginning to regret his decision.

As they entered the church, Brendon’s eyes set upon a small man gathering up a bunch of shining, mechanical flowers. “They are not. They’re romantic.”

“Only because you’re not the one deactivating them,” an even smaller man across the room insisted. A spark jumped to his fingers from the still-moving petals of the flower he was attending to, and he cursed again, bringing his hand to his mouth to blow on it. “These things are a fire hazard.”

“Frank, stop being so melodramatic. It’s just a—”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

The man gathering up the deactivated flowers—Gerard, Brendon assumed—started and wheeled toward them. There was a short, tense moment before Gerard smiled. “Lord Smith.”

“My apologies for arriving so late, but I was hoping you could do something for me,” Spencer said, smiling. Brendon noticed the dark impressions beneath his eyes for the first time and wondered just how late it really was. “If you don’t mind, could you perform one more marriage ceremony tonight?”

“Mikey has already gone home for the day,” Frank said as he moved to stand beside Gerard, crossing his arms. “We were about to head that way ourselves.”

Spencer bit his lip. “Could you please make just one exception? We really need this marriage to happen tonight.”

“We understand,” Gerard said, cutting Frank off. “And we would be happy to throw a little something together for you two.”

Frank gave Gerard a pained look. “ _Gee_.”

“Frank,” Gerard smiled, placing a hand on Frank’s heavily tattooed arm; Brendon noticed that the nautical star just above Gerard’s fingers began spinning just a little bit faster than the others, “this is obviously important to them. Can you go fetch Mikey, please?”

Frank still didn’t look pleased, but he rolled his eyes and didn’t protest again. A couple of minutes later, he returned to the church with a tired-looking gentleman in tow.

Gerard waved the newcomer happily towards the back of the church, smiled and kissed Frank’s temple quickly. “All right, looks like we’re good to go. Mikey’s pretty tired, so I hope you’ll be okay with whatever he can play in his sleep. And we’ve still got the decorations from the last wedding up, so give us another couple of minutes while we get those down.”

Aside from the heap of mechanical flowers Gerard had set on a pew, there were dozens of real roses and mechanical ones clustered together and tied with lace adorning the end of each of the pews. An arch at the top of the steps was decorated with more tulle and roses, and a machine, whose cogs shone in the light of the lanterns that lit the church, blew bubbles over it that rose, glittering, towards the ceiling. Brendon thought everything was very pretty. “I think it looks nice the way it is.”

Gerard’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Great. Let’s get started, then.” He extended his hand toward the steps at the front. “After you.”

Brendon’s stomach churned uneasily, but he followed Spencer up to the front and turned to face him.

Gerard came after them, taking his place on the step above them. “I assume you haven’t brought anyone to be your witnesses?”

Spencer shook his head. “No, we haven’t.”

Frank moved next to Gerard, handing him a long piece of lace. “That’s okay. Mikey and I will sign with you.”

Brendon wasn’t entirely sure about the legality of having a witness who was (judging from the soft sounds coming from the organ in the back) asleep during the wedding, but he assumed Gerard would know better than him about these sorts of things.

He nervously bit his lip. This whole thing felt like being in a strange dream. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably again, and he looked up at Spencer for the first time.

Spencer was looking back at him, his eyes a little too wide, his jaw a little too tight. It was good to know that Brendon wasn’t the only one with bad nerves.

“Are you two okay?” Frank asked. “We can stop at any time before the papers are signed.”

“Oh, leave them alone, Frankie,” Gerard shushed him. “They’re just having pre-wedding jitters. It’s completely normal.”

Frank looked sceptically at Spencer, then Brendon. “Still. They should be aware of that.”

Brendon swallowed before taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Frank. I’m ready.”

“As am I,” Spencer added.

Gerard nodded, carefully folding the lace Frank had handed him earlier in his palm. “Okay, then. We’re here this evening to unite Lord Spencer James Smith, Marquess of Summerlin and,” he stopped, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

Brendon felt his ears grow hot, slightly embarrassed by his utter lack of a title. “Sir Brendon Boyd Urie.”

Gerard’s eyes lit up then, softening as though in sudden understanding. “Thank you. We’re here to unite Lord Spencer James Smith, Marquess of Summerlin and Sir Brendon Boyd Urie in holy matrimony. If either of you feel that you should not be married, please speak now.” Neither of them said anything, and Gerard continued, taking each of their hands in his own. “Lord Smith, repeat after me. I, Spencer James Smith.”

Their eyes connected again, and Brendon’s cheeks burned. He couldn’t help but think how handsome Spencer looked in the light of the lanterns. “I, Spencer James Smith.”

“Take thee, Brendon Boyd Urie, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

“Take thee, Brendon Boyd Urie, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”

“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“As long as we both shall live.”

“As long as we both shall live.”

Gerard turned to Brendon then, squeezing his hand gently. “Sir Urie, repeat after me. I, Brendon Boyd Urie.”

Brendon felt his throat constrict, but he forced himself to speak. “I, Brendon Boyd Urie.”

“Take thee, Spencer James Smith, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

Oh, God, he was really doing this. “Take thee, Spencer James Smith, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”

“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“In sickness and in health.”

“As long as we both shall live.”

“As long as we both shall live.” Oh god, he had just promised forever to someone he barely knew. Brendon tried to push it from his mind, to remember that this was a marriage of convenience—one that would keep him safe from getting married off to suspicious viscounts with disturbing affections for snakes to boot—but the original thought of that promise of forever remained.

“Now,” Gerard said, “the rings.”

A chill jolted up Brendon’s spine. “We don’t have rings.”

Spencer looked to Gerard, breaking eye contact with Brendon for the first time since their vows began. “This wasn’t exactly planned, you must understand.”

“It’s all right, I promise,” Gerard assured them, squeezing their hands. “We actually get more elopements than you would think. We’ll just continue on with the binding, no worries.”

Gerard brought their hands up, firmly pressing their palms against one another. Spencer’s hand was warm against Brendon’s, slightly unsteady, just like Brendon’s own. Gerard folded his hands over theirs, pulling the lace around their hands so that they were tied together. “With the power vested in me by King Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, I unite you. When one of you laughs, may the other find joy; when one of you cries, may the other be filled with sorrow, for you are bound together just as surely as your hands are bound.”

When Gerard released his hold on them, Brendon began to feel his hand grow hotter, and a tingling sensation erupted along his fingers and palm. The lace that tied them together began to emit a soft, white light, and Brendon’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up at Spencer, a little breathless, to see Spencer watching their hands intently.

Gerard grinned at them both. “Spencer, Brendon, you are now married. What has been created today, may no one break apart. You may now kiss.”

Brendon’s heart skipped one more beat as Spencer leaned toward him. He hesitated for a moment, then moved forward, pressing his mouth carefully to Spencer’s.

The tingling feeling in Brendon’s hand began again and grew until he felt like his whole body was warm because of it. The lace tightened on its own accord as Brendon’s lips slid against Spencer’s, tying them more firmly together as the kiss deepened. And even though this was a marriage of convenience on both of their parts, Brendon couldn’t help but feel like something special just happened.

Spencer pulled away from him first, and Brendon slowly opened his eyes to see him smiling. Brendon timidly returned the smile.

From the organ at the back of the church came a sweet, complex melody, starting quick and joyous and turning gradually slower until it stopped on one chord and soft sounds of snoring started up as an accompaniment. Gerard gave Frank a significant look while still somehow managing to smile at Brendon and Spencer.

“Congratulations, you two,” he said, sliding the lace from their hands without untying the knot as Frank turned and headed towards the back. “Just sign your marriage license, and you’ll be ready to go.”

They walked over to a small table where Frank handed Spencer a piece of parchment and a quill. Spencer signed it with a flourish, as did Brendon when Frank passed it to him. Frank and Mikey then took their turns signing as their witnesses (Gerard putting a steadying arm around Mikey’s waist to keep him upright) and then Gerard slipped the still-knotted lace over the parchment, rolling the paper up and sliding the knot down to hold it fast.

Frank opened a small wooden box he’d been holding, and Gerard placed the marriage license within it before handing it off to Brendon. “Congratulations, my lords.”

Brendon looked down at the box in his hands, realising that his hand was still warm where the lace had tied him to Spencer.

  


  
“So,” Brendon said once they were back in their carriage, “what happens now?”

Spencer slumped against the seat, turning his head to stare out the window as the horses started to pick up speed. “I honestly don’t know.”

“But we’re moving,” Brendon said, sounding honestly confused, and Spencer felt something inside of him flutter.

“I’m sorry,” he hurried to say, the feeling inside him growing stronger when Brendon shot him a relieved smile. “I meant—they’re taking us South. There’s an inn some five miles down this road. I thought we might spend the night there and continue on to my estate tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Brendon said, and Spencer swore he could see a faint blush taint his cheeks before Brendon turned his head away. Spencer forced himself to look back out his own window to keep from staring.

“I know it’s not much,” he said apologetically, wanting to keep a conversation going and his thoughts away from how smooth Brendon’s skin looked in the soft glow from the carriage lanterns. “If you would rather travel through the night to find better accommodations, I can talk to the driver?”

It would probably mean having to sleep as they were—a far from appealing option, but definitely preferable to taking Brendon somewhere he didn’t want to go or being forced to stop at some courtier’s estate in the middle of the night. Brendon most likely hadn’t been wrong when he’d predicted that Spencer’s reputation would take a hit because of their marriage, but as he met Brendon’s eyes again, Spencer couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

“An inn sounds good,” Brendon replied. “What time is it, anyway?”

Spencer pulled his watch out of his pocket and flipped open the lid. “Nearly two in the morning.”

“Wow.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the many hours since he last slept pulling down his body. A while later, the carriage came to a top, and Spencer gave himself a little shake, forcing his limbs to help him get up and climb out.

“Wait here.”

He took care of business as quickly as he could, probably paying too much and not caring in the slightest. Brendon was sitting in the same position when Spencer came back as when he’d left him, half-asleep against the backrest and still breathtakingly beautiful.

“We’re on the top floor,” Spencer said, touching Brendon’s arm softly to rouse him. “I asked them to send up a light supper and arrange for a warm bath. Follow me?”

Brendon nodded, and Spencer took his hand, helping him step down from the carriage. They crossed the tavern that was on the ground floor quickly, dodging drunk people and some exuberant dancing that was going on, and arrived in a small parlour, where a chambermaid curtsied to them both and led the way up a winding staircase until they reached a landing with a single door.

“Here you are, my lords,” she said, opening the door with another polite nod of the head and handing Spencer two sets of keys. “The food and water will be up shortly.”

Spencer thanked her and followed Brendon inside.

The room turned out to be a great deal bigger than it first appeared, probably covering most of the floor they were on and built in an angle, with a sitting room in the centre and a sleeping area to the right. The furniture was basic, but well kept, and the room looked clean enough, which made Spencer relax a little. There was a knock on the door and four servants appeared, two carrying large trays of food and wine while the other two had a water heater between them, cogs spinning merrily as they pushed it into the sleeping area and through a door on the far wall. Ten minutes and several comings and goings later, the servants were out again, having managed to also start a fire in the small fireplace and turn down the sheets on the bed. If this was the kind of service bringing a husband got you at a simple inn, Spencer didn’t want to travel on his own ever again.

“The bath looks heavenly,” Brendon said, pulling off his coat and draping it over a chair. “Do you mind if I—?”

Spencer shook his head, forced to swallow hard to keep his composure as Brendon continued to remove his clothing, folding it away carefully until he was down to his breeches and loose-fitting white shirt. He turned away quickly when he realised that Brendon was intending to remove even that, busying himself with putting food on two plates and trying to ignore the low moan of pleasure coming from the bathroom as Brendon got into the hot water.

Spencer took one of the plates for himself and sat down in front of the fire, guiltily registering every splash and sigh from the other end of their room with a rising blush on this face. A little voice at the back of his head kept insisting that Brendon was his husband now—Spencer’s to have and hold in whatever way he could possibly want. Another—stronger one—reminded him that Brendon was only married to him because he’d been desperate for an escape, and because Spencer had lied to him by pretending to be equally troubled.

Then again, perhaps Spencer’s desperation hadn’t been a complete lie. He pictured Brendon laid out on his back on a bed in Lord Saporta’s quarters and narrowly stopped himself from having to punch something.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before pouring a glass of red wine. He’d been raised a gentleman, and, inappropriate feelings aside, he would make sure he treated Brendon with the respect he deserved. Lying to Brendon to get him to marry him was bad enough. Spencer really did not want to add pressuring Brendon into something he didn’t fully want to his conscience.

“The bath is yours if you want it,” Brendon said from somewhere close by.

Spencer looked up. Brendon crossed the floor into the sitting area and collected the second plate Spencer had prepared for them before collapsing into the chair opposite Spencer’s with a grateful smile. “God, I’m starving.”

“Can I get you some wine?” Spencer managed to ask, forcing his eyes away from Brendon’s wet hair.

“Please,” Brendon replied, and Spencer had a vivid flash of the same word falling from Brendon’s lips in a very different situation (not helped in the least by the way Brendon was pulling his legs up under him to lounge more comfortably in his chair, making the already loose laces on his night shirt move to show off a triangle of creamy skin on his chest and shoulder).

Spencer quickly distracted himself by reaching for the decanter.

They ate in silence for a while, and with the rich food settling in his stomach and the wine going to his head, Spencer eventually started to relax. He put away his glass and slid down a little in his chair, closing his eyes for just a second.

“Can you believe this is our wedding night?” Brendon asked. Spencer felt a guilty thrill run down his spine at the words, but sleep was pulling him down faster than he could fight it, and in the end, he settled for dropping his head back against the top of the chair.

“You look exhausted,” Brendon added, and even though Spencer couldn’t see him, he could hear a smile in his voice. “Come on. Bed.”

Spencer tried to shake himself awake as Brendon leaned over him and helped him out of the chair. He wanted to say something, protest maybe, but Brendon smelled like fresh soap and sweet wine, and Spencer found it impossible to stop himself from simply leaning close and burying his face against Brendon’s neck as he was half-carried across the room and dumped onto the mattress.

He felt Brendon move around him, pulling off his boots and loosening some of his clothes carefully. His hands were warm. Spencer wished he could keep them close.

“Night,” Brendon whispered, somewhere close to Spencer’s ear, and Spencer felt two fingers stroke his forehead once, pushing hair out of his face.

He fell asleep smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

  


  


  


Waking up had been interesting for Brendon, to say the least. His dreams had been filled with his family and the way their lives had been before everyone had branched off to advance the family line, back when his brothers were teaching him how to ride his first pony and his sisters let him play with their hair. When he’d opened his eyes to a strange room and Spencer lying beside him, his heart had skipped a beat, and his body had stiffened for a moment. Everything had come back quickly after that, but he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of nostalgia, even after he’d woken Spencer and they’d started their journey to Summerlin once more.

They travelled all day, only stopping for lunch a little after noon, and by late evening, Brendon was exhausted. His legs were cramping up, and the monotonous trot of the horse’s hooves was making him sleepy. He was about to suggest they quit their journey for the day when the carriage stopped abruptly, lurching him forward and quite effectively waking him up.

Spencer’s hand came up quickly, pressing into his shoulder to steady him. “Are you all right?”

Brendon smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Just caught off guard. Are we here?”

Spencer nodded, opening the carriage door before the driver had a chance to. He stepped down and helped Brendon down as well.

The first thing Brendon saw was a huge mansion. He’d thought his father’s summer home in Brighton was excessive with its ten bedrooms and four acres of bordering land. This home absolutely dwarfed it.

“It’s,” Brendon stammered, trying to find a word to even describe the grandeur of the estate, “big.” He moved his head around, noting the surrounding gardens where at least three gardeners were hard at work, and felt a spark of apprehension shoot through him. The Urie family business was successful, to be sure, but enough to help bail out something like this? Brendon swallowed.

“You’ll get used to it,” Spencer assured him, smiling at Brendon and taking his hand. “Most of it is just bedrooms. Come on, it’s late. Let’s get inside.”

Spencer led him to the entryway, where the door was opened by a stern-looking man roughly three times Brendon’s size. “My lord, you were due back this morning.”

Spencer smiled, bright and genuine. “I got a bit side-tracked, Zack. And, as you know, I’m more than old enough to look after myself, these days.”

“Blame your sisters,” Zack said as he took Spencer’s hat and coat. “They straight out refused to work with their tutor without your safe return. I grounded them from the stables, but they disappeared after dinner, as did Misty and Annabelle. They didn’t reappear until bedtime.”

Spencer laughed. “You should have known better than to go against the collective will of Jackie and Crystal.”

“Well, someone has to.” Zack gave an exasperated sigh, then looked at Brendon like he’d just discovered him. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise we had a guest.”

Brendon shifted nervously.

“He’s not a guest.” Spencer moved behind him and helped him out of his coat, passing it on to a servant that was hovering nearby. “Brendon, this is Zack, my steward. He basically takes care of just about everything I don’t have time for. Zack, meet Brendon, my husband.”

Zack gave a sharp laugh. When Spencer didn’t laugh as well, Zack’s smile dropped. “You aren’t joking.”

“I’m not,” Spencer said, taking Brendon’s hat as well. “This is Lord Brendon Boyd Urie, previously of the Portsmouth Uries and the new Marquess of Summerlin. We were married late last night.”

Brendon startled at the new title associated with his name. No one had actually said it until now, and even though he had married Spencer for his title, it was a bit of a shock to hear.

“I suppose that would explain your late arrival.” Zack smiled wanly. “Well, congratulations, my lords. Our young ladies will be delighted to have another brother they can terrorise.”

Spencer snorted. “I’m sure. I trust they’re asleep by now?”

Zack nodded. “I checked on them just a minute ago. They were out like lights. I’m sure their deviance is just exhausting.”

Spencer patted Zack’s arm. “Thank you, Zack. You’ve got to be tired yourself, running after them all day. Go on to bed. Brendon and I can take care of ourselves from here.”

Zack smiled. “If you’re sure you’ll be okay. It was nice to meet you, Lord Urie.”

“You too,” Brendon said quickly as Zack took his leave. “Well, he’s nice.”

Spencer nodded. “He is. He’s a little rough around the edges, but that’s what my father liked about him when he hired him, and that’s what I like about him now. Plus, for all his exasperation, he loves my sisters, and my sisters love him. But come on, I’ll take you up to your room.”

Spencer led Brendon up the long, spiralling staircase in the front entry and down a hallway, turning a couple of corners and going up another flight of stairs along the way. By the time Spencer actually opened a door, Brendon was hopelessly lost.

The room Spencer brought him to was large and decorated with ornate, mahogany furniture. There was a huge canopy bed in the middle of everything with heavy, rich velvet tapestries tied to the four posters and a copious amount of pillows on top of what looked like silk bedding. An unlit fireplace dominated the corner of the room and a writing desk sat across from it. All in all, the room was beautiful but relatively lifeless.

“I assumed this room would be easiest to explain to the servants while still giving you your space,” Spencer said. He pointed to a door near the writing desk. “That door leads into my room. This is the room set aside for my future spouse and used to be my mother’s until she—well.” Spencer faltered for a second, and Brendon found himself wondering just how old he’d been when his mother had passed away. “It was converted to a nursery after that,” Spencer continued. “And since my sisters grew out of it, it’s been mostly used as a guest room. I can make other arrangements, of course, if you’d prefer something else.”

“No, no.” Brendon smiled. “This is great. Thank you.”

“I’ll have someone bring up your clothes in the morning,” Spencer said. “I assume you have more things that you couldn’t fit in that bag of yours. We’ll send for those later.”

Brendon opened his mouth to ask about the money, wanting to know exactly how bad the situation was and how seriously he should take the knot in his stomach that had grown larger with every new room and opulent wall treatment they’d walked past on their way through the house. Before he could find the words, Spencer interrupted him by taking Brendon’s hand in his, squeezing it softly.

“I’ll be in the next room over, if you need anything,” Spencer said, letting Brendon’s hand go slowly, as though reluctant to leave. He looked tired, Brendon thought—far too tired to sit down with Brendon and go through the estate’s financials, to be sure. And, worrying aside, Brendon most certainly was too; it could wait until the morning.

Brendon took a step back, resisting the sudden urge to walk Spencer over to the bed and tuck him in between the sheets. “Goodnight, Spencer.” Christ, but it was still weird to call Spencer by his first name.

“Goodnight, Brendon,” Spencer replied, shutting the bedroom door behind him on his way out.

And then there was nothing but Brendon, the furniture, and how absolutely drained he was. He thought somewhere in the back of his mind that he should probably write to his family, explain everything that had happened in the past forty-eight hours, but the thought never really got past how dreadfully tired he felt.

He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his clothes, letting them land where they would, and dropped down on the bed, barely having time to pull the covers over his body before falling into a fitful sleep.

  


  


Spencer closed the door to what was now Brendon’s room behind him and allowed himself the luxury of leaning against it for a moment, trying to compose himself. He could faintly hear Brendon move around on the other side of the oak, humming to himself as he got ready for bed.

 _My husband is in there,_ Spencer told himself, letting the thought run through him like hot liquid until it settled deep in his chest.

Not only his husband. _Brendon_ was in there. The same Brendon who had unknowingly swept him off his feet two years back and that Spencer had been convinced he would never see again. Spencer felt weak.

God, he needed Ryan back to help him clear his head and make sure Spencer didn’t end up following Brendon around with a demented smile all day long, picking him flowers and composing odes to his beauty (though Spencer wasn’t too afraid he would actually go that far; unlike his best friend, he prided himself on having some self-control in these types of situations).

He pushed himself off the door and headed for bed, already knowing that sleep would be the last thing on his mind with Brendon on the other side of the wall.

  


  
Brendon woke up slowly, wading through a haze of asleep and awake until he finally scrounged together the strength and coherence to sit up.

His head was pounding, the spot behind his eyes throbbing painfully. He pinched the bridge of his nose. It was almost like a hangover, he thought, except he knew he hadn’t had nearly that much fun the night before. He waited for the pain to subside enough that he could bear opening his eyes again before scrubbing a hand over his face and looking around.

The room was even more beautiful in daylight, windows on the opposite wall from the bed displaying a charming view of a nearby lake. It still felt a little cold and vaguely impersonal, but at least Brendon knew where he was.

The wardrobe caught his eye, and he noticed that its doors were wide open and all of his clothes had been hung inside. He pushed off his comforter and walked over, pulling a shirt off the hanger and noting that it was freshly ironed.

Unsure of what he was expected to do now, he tried to keep to his normal routine as closely as possible. So, get up, get dressed, go downstairs in a bit.

First, however, he had an important letter to write to his family.

Brendon rifled through the writing desk, checking the drawers for quills, ink and paper. He found some in the second drawer and pulled it out, surprised at the elegant rose design that had been printed at the head of the paper, stamped on a jar of ink and wrapped over the feather pen in the form of a thin, golden wire cage. It was actually a very beautiful set—clearly custom made and very expensive—and Brendon wondered if he ought to be using it at all. He didn’t see any other supplies, though, which didn’t leave him with much of a choice.

Squaring his shoulders, he carefully dipped the quill into the small pot of ink and began to write.

  


  
Spencer managed a lovely three and a half minutes to himself at the breakfast table before a veritable tornado hit him in the shape of his two younger sisters. They each took a side of him, propping their elbows up on the table and folding their hands to rest their chins on them as they watched him with steady blue eyes. Their level of synchronicity shouldn’t have been quite as unnerving to Spencer as it was.

He tried to shrug it off and continued buttering his toast. “You know, Greta would be absolutely horrified with your manners if she were here and could see those elbows. Or those hands under your chins. All her hard work for nothing.”

Crystal dutifully placed her hands in her lap, though it took Jackie one huge sigh and a grumble to do the same. Their eyes remained trained on Spencer.

“For being raised as noble ladies, you’re both awful at it,” Spencer said, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose you know about Brendon.”

“And we are very cross with you for not telling us,” Crystal said.

“Heartbroken, even,” Jackie cut in.

“Enough that our hearts will never fully heal,” Crystal said. “Though I suppose that rose silk we saw when last in town might help somewhat.”

“Though a lot of it will be needed,” Jackie added, nodding importantly.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “You won’t be going to court for another year,” he said. “I highly doubt that you’ll be needing new ball gowns before then. By the way, what did you do to Zack that would make him give me up so quickly?”

“We have our ways,” Crystal assured him.

“And I believe we would have got new dresses made for the occasion, if we’d been informed that you were to be married, Spencer,” Jackie added. “We’re really the ones that got the short end of the stick in this.”

“Fine.” Spencer threw up his hands in surrender. “Have your dresses. But if either of you even attempt to get those necklines more than an inch under your collarbones, I’ll be forced to alter them myself. Again.”

They each made faces. “You’re absolutely horrible, Spencer,” Jackie huffed.

Crystal folded her arms. “Not to mention completely out of style. All of the other girls our age have low necklines on their evening gowns.”

Spencer arched a brow. “You really don’t need any more evening gowns as it is. Regardless, it’s either no more than an inch under your collarbones or nothing, understood?”

The twins looked like they were going to protest again, but were cut off by the sound of footsteps entering the doorway of the dining room.

The three of them looked up to see Brendon fidgeting in the doorway. His hair was mussed with sleep still, though slightly flattened on top, as though he’d made an effort at straightening it out with his fingers. Spencer couldn’t help a mental flash of what his own hands would look like fisted in that hair, being the reason it was sticking up in the back. He quickly lowered his eyes.

He set down his toast—which he’d still not been able to take a bite out of, thanks to his sisters—and stood politely. “Good morning, Brendon. I hope you didn’t hear my sisters’ bickering, but if you did, I suppose it’s as good a way as any to be introduced to them.” He extended his hands to his sisters, helping them stand. “This is Jackie.” He beckoned to his left.

Jackie curtsied prettily. “It’s wonderful to meet our brother’s husband.”

Spencer gestured to his right. “And this is Crystal.”

Crystal curtsied as well. “Our brother’s very handsome husband.”

Spencer suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, which certainly wasn’t an easy task. “Girls, this is Brendon, your _brother-in-law_. He’s a long way from where he grew up, so I expect you to make him feel at home.”

Crystal began pulling her long, blonde hair up, tying it with the ribbon that had been wrapped around her wrist. “Sorry for our disastrous state of dress. We didn’t realise you would be up so early. You two came in so late that I’d have thought you’d sleep in.”

Brendon smiled. “I’m an early riser. I’d have been down sooner, but I got a bit lost on the way here. And I think you both look lovely. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Spencer couldn’t help but be slightly relieved that Brendon at least wasn’t repulsed by the idea of having fifteen-year-old sister-in-laws. “Now that we’ve all met, would you like something to eat?” he asked. “We have toast, eggs, and yams this morning. Or, if that’s not to your taste, I’m sure we can convince Alex to make something else,” he hastened to add when Brendon made a small grimace.

“No, I usually love all of that,” Brendon assured him. “I just have a headache. Um.” He looked at the table. “Do we have any tea, or..?”

“Of course!” Jackie piped up, hurrying to the cabinet containing the china and pulling out a cup and saucer. “And if my nose isn’t lying to me, it’s peppermint. That should definitely help with your head.”

“Come sit, Brendon.” Crystal pulled out her chair, offering it to him with a huge smile. “I’m sure you’ll feel better once you have some food in you. Can’t start the day off without a decent breakfast.”

Brendon hesitated for a moment before taking a seat. Jackie placed the cup in front of him, and Crystal poured the tea. “Thank you.”

Spencer shook his head. “Come on, girls, you’re smothering him.”

“We’re only trying to make him feel welcome.” The girls pouted, rearranging themselves to sit across from Brendon and Spencer. “We want him to feel at home just as much as you do.”

Brendon smiled. “That’s really sweet of you. I’m sure I’ll get used to everything soon enough. Just as soon as I stop getting lost in this house.”

Jackie laughed. “Good luck with that. We were born in this house, and I still get lost going to the washroom some nights.”

“Very encouraging, Jackie,” Spencer muttered as he took his seat, a little embarrassed at how forward his sisters were being. “How’s your tea, Brendon?”

Brendon dutifully took a sip. “It’s good, thank you. What do you know?” He smiled at the girls. “I think my headache is going away already. Your tea is practically magic.”

“Why, thank you.” Crystal grinned, pouring herself, and then Jackie, a cup.

“You see, Spencer? We were just being nice.” Jackie took a sip of her tea, humming happily.

“Right,” Spencer said sceptically, turning his attention back to Brendon. “Did you sleep well?”

Brendon nodded. “I basically passed out once I got into bed. No problems there.”

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well this morning,” Spencer tried. “Maybe you should take a walk around the grounds?”

Brendon smiled at him. “I think I will. Would you care to join me?”

Spencer felt his heart do a small flip. “I actually can’t. I have some business with Zack and one of the girls’ tutors to attend to, and I believe Greta, their governess, is returning today, so I’ll have to touch base with her as well.”

“Oh,” Spencer wasn’t sure if he was just imagining things, or if Brendon actually seemed to deflate a bit. “Maybe next time.”

“Spencer’s loss,” Crystal said, leaning toward Brendon. “We would love to show you around the grounds.”

“Oh!” Jackie tapped Crystal’s arm. “We could show him Misty and Annabelle!”

“No, you couldn’t,” Spencer cut her off. “I believe Zack grounded you from the stables last night for not cooperating with your tutor yesterday, and you blatantly ignored him. No, don’t you dare even open your mouths to say it was because you were worried for my well-being. You just wanted to play with your horses instead of studying. You’re both going to be missing those horses for a week now.”

“But, Spencer,” Jackie whined, “you know Misty needs to be ridden daily, or she gets temperamental!”

“And no one but me can groom Annabelle’s mane just right.” Crystal frowned. “Spencer, this is cruel and unusual.”

Spencer shrugged. “You really should have thought about those things before you disobeyed Zack.” He brought out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “You two really need to head to the East wing parlour anyway. Master Weekes should be here soon.”

The girls groaned but grabbed two pieces of toast and smothered them with jam before taking their leave, grumbling all the while.

When they’d finally gone, Spencer sighed. “I’m sorry about them. They’re... easily excitable.”

Brendon shook his head. “No, no. They’re fine. I like them already. I always wanted a younger sibling to pick on. Now I have two.”

Spencer smiled at him. “Feel free to pick on them to your heart’s desire. They could use a little bit of their own medicine. The servants can barely handle them as it is.”

Brendon laughed, and Spencer was possibly the most pathetic person in the entire world for feeling so weak in the knees about it. “They’ve just got fire in them. That’s all. I think they’re great.”

“I’m certainly glad you think so.” Spencer checked the time again, wishing it would somehow have stopped, leaving him free to stay at the table with Brendon. “I regret to say that I have to go. The tutor I was talking about should be here by now, and I really do need to meet with him. Feel free to explore the house and grounds. Nothing is off limits, and if anyone gives you any trouble, just tell them to report to me, and I’ll take care of everything. I wish I could have shown you around myself, I—”

Brendon seemed conflicted for a moment, as though he had something else he wanted to say, but clearly decided against it and instead waved him off with a carefree smile. “It’s okay, Spencer. I understand. Go take care of your estate. I’m fine, really.”

“Good. I’ll see you at dinner.” Spencer recalled all the breakfasts when his father would say something similar to his mother, then kiss the top of her head before going off to do whatever it was that needed attending to. He could barely stifle doing the same to Brendon. He pushed his chair out.

“Right,” Brendon said. “Do we eat in here for dinner, or is there a more formal dining hall?”

“Here. There’s a formal hall too, in the East wing, but that’s only for holidays, of for when we have extended family or guests here. It’s much too large for just the three—four, sorry—of us.” He felt himself flush at his mistake.

“Okay. I’ll see you at dinner then.” Brendon took one last sip of his tea before standing as well. “I think I’ll take your advice and walk around for a bit.”

Spencer nodded and watched Brendon as he left the room. He allowed himself a moment of wistfulness, picturing Brendon smiling up at him as they walked through the grounds, before setting off for the East parlour to Crystal and Jackie’s waiting tutor.

  


  
Getting lost outside the house was, luckily, less of an issue than getting lost inside it, Brendon realised happily. Mostly because the house was so large; it towered high above the fields and gardens, easy to spot even from a distance.

He walked in a wide circle around it first, registering a back garden with several pavilions on one side, stables and assorted buildings on another, and the lake he had seen from his bedroom window that morning on the third. Further away, he could see endless acres of fields, and a forest that appeared to go one for miles, trees bright green with new leaves. A little bit apart from the house, he noticed a long row of horses being led out to pasture by a group of servants he had yet to meet.

Brendon bit his lip.

The more he saw, the more worried he became. Spencer had called his situation desperate, and yet all Brendon could see were healthy-looking crops and well maintained buildings. Servants were everywhere, looking busy but happy with their work. Either Spencer was heavily in debt, living far beyond his means, or there was something else there that Brendon wasn’t seeing.

He really needed to talk to Spencer about it. And soon.

He also found that news of his arrival at the estate must have spread like wildfire that morning; everywhere he went, people lowered their heads politely, murmuring a “Good morning, my lord” as he passed. None of them actually came up to him, however, and instead of feeling respected and revered like Brendon figured he probably should, the distance mostly just made him feel uncomfortable.

By mid-day, his feet were sore, his stomach empty and Brendon himself was in a rather desolate mood. If he had been at home, he would have gone to the kitchen and crept up on the chair by the furnace, chatting with the kitchen boys while they went about their work and trying to charm Cook into making him his favourite dishes.

At this house, he wasn’t sure he’d even _find_ the kitchen.

He heard people approaching and reflexively drew back, ducking behind a thick rose bush as the voices drew nearer. It was a man and a woman, walking with their heads held closely together, mostly hidden from view by the woman’s parasol. They stopped just a couple of yards away from Brendon, and as he watched, the couple separated with a quick embrace and the woman left, looking back over her shoulder and smiling as she hurried up a path Brendon was rather certain lead towards the back of the house. The man waited for a few moments and then turned, allowing Brendon to see his face for the first time.

He looked familiar. Brendon wracked his brain, trying to remember where he might have seen the man before. Something in his mind told him fireworks had something to do with it, but the only real ones Brendon had seen had been at the royal wedding, and—

The man moved closer to the bushes Brendon was hiding behind, reaching out to pick a white rose and placing it in his button hole. His eyes were a light brown, and Brendon had a sudden flash of those same eyes meeting his fleetingly in the middle of a crowd, the other man helping his friend move away from the people surrounding them as Brendon struggled to get free from a pair of broken, mechanical wings.

Brendon watched Ryan Ross leave the garden by the same path the woman had left, wondering idly why a man who was rumoured to be Spencer’s closest friend wouldn’t enter by the front door.

  


  
Spencer flipped open his book and stared blankly at the page. So far, he’d succeeded in getting absolutely nothing of use done that morning, thoughts of Brendon crossing his mind at every turn, far more interesting than his accounts for the past couple of months.

Especially since the accounts were just fine and in no real need of scrutiny. Spencer’s father had always managed the estate well, and Spencer had had the privilege of learning from him from a very young age.

He sighed, flipping through the last pages again. Even his expense account was in the black—a definite benefit of spending less time in town and more on his estate over the past year—and there was really nothing in the books that would make him look any less deceitful when telling Brendon that he’d never really needed to marry him at all. At least not for economic reasons.

Damn it.

Even though they barely knew each other, Spencer felt confident in assuming that Brendon would not feel comfortable being in his debt. From what Spencer could tell so far, Brendon was well aware of his rank and place in society, and proud of himself and his family. And no matter how much Spencer already liked having him in the house and desperately wanted him to feel comfortable and at home, Brendon might still see it as charity once he realised that what he’d supplied to the deal in their decision to get married wouldn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

Spencer let his head fall heavily against the desk, indulging in the misfortune of his dilemma for a minute.

“Working hard as usual, I see,” a familiar voice said from the doorway.

Spencer looked up. “Ryan. When did you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago. I snuck in through the back gardens.”

“Did everything go all right?”

“Like magic,” Ryan said. “Thank you.”

He held out a hand. Spencer took it. “I was happy to help.”

Ryan gave him another smile, then grabbed a chair for himself and sat down, putting up his feet on Spencer’s desk and cheerfully ignoring the glare Spencer directed at him.

“So, I hear there was a late night ceremony in Our Lady of Sorrows after we split up that night,” Ryan said, looking at Spencer, eyebrow raised.

Spencer ducked his head. “It was a spur of the moment thing.”

Ryan grinned, wide and delighted. “And here I thought you said you didn’t do spur of the moment.”

Spencer leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Yes, well.”

“I remember him, you know,” Ryan said. “The way your eyes kept seeking him out. How you looked after dancing with him after the coronation.”

Spencer blushed. He remembered it, too. Ryan had been absolutely awful teasing him about it.

“I didn’t know you had kept in contact,” Ryan continued. “I’m still trying to decide whether I should be mad at you for keeping it from me or congratulate you on the sneakiest courtship ever.”

Spencer bit his lip.

“You _did_ keep in contact, didn’t you?” Ryan asked, taking down his feet and leaning forward. “You _didn’t_? Spence, what—”

“I ran into him by chance and told him I needed money,” Spencer blurted. “His family was forcing him to marry Lord Saporta for a title, so I offered mine instead. And I knew he’d never take it if he felt he couldn’t give me anything back, so I claimed to be impoverished.”

“That’s going to fall through pretty fast,” Ryan said. “Summerlin isn’t exactly a hovel.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Spencer sighed. “I want to tell him, I do. I just—need some time.”

“Time for what?”

Spencer really wished he knew. To successfully build a time machine, maybe.

“You mean to seduce him,” Ryan said suddenly.

Spencer jerked. “Of course not.”

“No, you do,” Ryan insisted. “You’re hoping he’ll fall in love with you and forget about the money.”

Something about that statement hit a little too close to home and made Spencer feel even worse about himself. “I just want to make him happy,” he argued. Which he definitely did. The way he’d felt when waking up in the inn after their wedding and seeing Brendon’s face on the pillow next to his, he’d known he’d try to give Brendon the sun and the moon if he were to ask for them.

He dropped his face in his hands with a frustrated sound. Ryan made a sound between a laugh and a sigh and patted his shoulder consolingly. It didn’t help very much.

There was a knock on the door, and Brendon stepped into the room. Spencer immediately straightened his back and folded his hands in his lap.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” Ryan said, standing up. Spencer could practically hear the promise of future needling in his voice. “Spencer?”

Sometimes, Spencer really hated his best friend.

“Brendon, this is Ryan Ross, currently Viscount Ross and the future Duke of Rosings. Ryan, this is Brendon Urie, my husband and the new Marquess of Summerlin.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” Brendon said, inclining his head in a bow.

“Likewise,” Ryan said, giving Spencer a small, amused smile before returning the bow. “And, please, call me Ryan. Spencer and I are practically brothers, after all.”

“All right,” Brendon said, looking a bit taken aback but happy. He turned to Spencer, asking something about dinner and whether Spencer would have time to go through some practical things with him before it. Spencer could see Ryan looking back and forth between them, the smile on his face growing alarmingly.

“So, Brendon,” Ryan said, completely ignoring Spencer’s look of ‘I know all your secrets too, don’t you dare’ and turning Brendon’s attention to him. “Has Spencer shown you his inventions yet?”

  


  
“They’re really not all that interesting,” Spencer insisted for what was at least the twentieth time. “Just bits of scrap, really.”

“It’s an entire room full of them, no matter what they are,” Ryan said, leading them through the house with the confidence of someone who felt like they belonged there. “Tell me, Brendon, aren’t you curious to see what kind of deep, dark secrets your husband is hiding from you?”

“I’m not—” Spencer said indignantly, cutting himself off and fixing Ryan with a pointed glare. “I’m merely suggesting that Brendon might have other plans, and that you—”

Part of Brendon felt a bit guilty at Spencer’s obvious reluctance. Another, bigger part, was dying of curiosity. Still. He slowed his steps. “I really don’t have to see them, if Spencer doesn’t want me to.”

“Don’t mind him, Brendon,” Ryan said, waving a hand absently as he led them down into what appeared to have once been the house’s cellar. “For all his protesting, he’s quite proud of his little trinkets.”

“They aren’t _trinkets_.”

Ryan tossed a smile over his shoulder. “You see?”

He led them to a door at the end of the stairwell and opened it with a flourish, extending his arm to welcome Brendon inside. “Welcome to Spencer’s evil lair.”

Spencer snorted. “Ryan has a flair for melodrama. Just ignore about three-fourths of what he says, and pare down the rest of his sentences into small words.”

Brendon laughed softly and stepped into the room, squinting to see in the dim light until Ryan turned the lamps up.

He gasped at what he saw.

Three of the walls had shelves built into them that took up the entire wall. Two of them were lined with various tools and pieces of shining metal, gold, silver, brass, and copper. Cogs were sorted by metal, then size, as were various bolts and screws, and various other objects were scattered across the shelves, ranging from little figurines to broken mirrors to clocks that read the wrong time.

But it was the third wall of shelves that had caught Brendon’s eye.

It was filled with finished products, most of which appeared to be boxes.

He started to reach for one that was completely composed of cogs but stopped short, turning to Spencer first. “May I..?”

Spencer’s hands were fidgeting with the buttons of his jacket, but he nodded.

Brendon delicately picked up the box, opening its lid. Immediately, it began to play a soft, sweet melody as the bottom of the box lifted to create a stage for a tiny, spinning porcelain figurine. The cogs on the outside spun slowly but were placed tightly enough together that they didn’t pinch Brendon’s skin, even though he could feel them moving against his palms.

Brendon, gently touched his finger to the figurine’s extended hand, feeling her twirl beneath him. “What song is it playing?”

“It doesn’t have a name.”

“You,” Brendon looked up at him then, gaping. “You mean that you wrote it yourself?”

Spencer nodded. “I wouldn’t necessarily say that I wrote it, more like fiddled around with different tines and their orders and created something that I thought sounded good, but. I created it, yes.”

Brendon looked at him wonderingly. Someone who could create such a beautiful music box, not to mention the music that it played, obviously spent a lot of time and care putting it together, looking for melodies in separate sounds and seeing the beauty in what other people would simply throw out. And there were dozens of boxes, all of them completely different. This wasn’t just a man with a title who Brendon happened to be married to.

He ducked his head, trying to suppress the sudden flush of heat he could feel threatening to spread on his face before speaking. “Spencer, these are beautiful.”

Spencer shrugged, still fidgeting with the buttons of his coat. “They’re just music boxes.”

Brendon carefully closed the box and placed it back on the shelf. “Something that beautiful that you spend that much time on isn’t just a music box.”

“Yes, well.” Spencer finally released his jacket, smoothing it down. “I think it’s about time for dinner. I should go tell the girls to get ready.”

Ryan gave Spencer a look that fell somewhere between disbelief and disappointment. Brendon felt much the same, but managed a nod. “Right. I should go wash up myself.”

He walked past the other two, his arm lightly brushing against Spencer’s. He stopped then, smiling. “Thank you for letting me see your inventions.”

Spencer hesitated, then returned the smile. “I’m glad you like them.”

Brendon left, heading for his room and managing to get there after only a couple of wrong turns. He splashed some water on his face and changed into a fresh shirt, trying to process everything he’d seen and experienced in the course of a day.

One thing was certain at least: his new life would definitely not be boring.

  


  
Spencer managed to avoid the subject of money when talking to Brendon for five days. It got increasingly difficult, as Brendon clearly wanted to discuss it, and Spencer ended up making up excuse after excuse for why he needed to close himself away in his study all day, or go on long inspection rounds of the grounds with his steward.

He could tell Brendon wasn’t happy about it; Spencer himself definitely wasn’t. But every time he squared his shoulders and went to tell Brendon the truth, he’d lose his nerve at the last minute.

On the fifth night, there was a knock on his door, just as Spencer was gone to bed. Not the outer door, but the one connecting his chambers to Brendon’s. Spencer tumbled out of bed more quickly than he ever had in his life, scrambling for his dressing gown and calling out a shaky “Yes?”

Brendon opened the door, similarly dressed in only his night clothes and carrying a candle from his room. “Hi.”

Spencer instinctively pulled his dressing gown tighter around himself. “Hey.”

“Can I come in?” Brendon asked. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about all week, but we never seem to find the time. I thought—” He broke off, eyes turning away for a moment before meeting Spencer’s again. “Night seems to be the only time when neither of us is busy.”

Spencer swallowed. Somehow, he must have managed a nod, however, because Brendon smiled at him and stepped further into the room. “Would you like something to drink?”

Brendon nodded gratefully. “Please.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Spencer said, walking over to a small cabinet by the window and pulling out a bottle of aged, dark rum and two glasses.

When he turned around, he found Brendon sitting, not in one of the chairs by the fireplace as Spencer has intended, but on the bed, leaning across it to light the candles on Spencer’s bedside table. Spencer turned back to the cabinet, pretending to be looking for something else while he took a number of deep breaths and tried to compose himself. It was still all right. A bed was just a piece of furniture like any other, after all. No reason for Spencer’s heart to beat as hard and fast as it was because of a stupid square of feathers.

Once he’d managed to convince himself of this somewhat, he pasted a smile on his face and walked over to the other side of the bed, sitting down opposite Brendon and pouring both of them a generous portion of the rum.

“So, what did you wish to discuss?”

Brendon accepted his glass with a nod of thanks and took a sip before answering. “I really like Summerlin,” he said. “Every day I’m here, it grows on me. It’s such a beautiful estate, and I feel like people are starting to warm up to me. Greta is always really nice, and Zack showed me around the stables the other day, and one of the stable boys told me about the different horses and showed me where the tack was, should I care to take one of them out for a ride. And I felt... happy. Like I was settling in. And I want to. I want to become a part of this.”

A warm feeling mixed with the fear in Spencer’s stomach, warring with the guilt that was already there and trying to overcome it. Brendon was settling in. First thing in the morning, Spencer needed to find that particular stable boy that had made Brendon feel welcome and give him a bonus for his good work. “I’m glad it pleases you,” he said, feeling the warmth in his stomach increase as Brendon offered him a smile.

“It does,” Brendon said. “It pleases me very much. And I understand that our marriage is a new situation for you as well, that you’ve managed the estate alone for a long time and probably aren’t used to sharing that burden. But I’m your husband now, and I want to help.” He moved his glass to his right hand, reaching out with his left and placing it carefully over Spencer’s. “Please, Spencer, let me be of assistance to you in this.”

Spencer opened his mouth to tell him the truth, that Summerlin was safe and sound and that what Spencer mostly did during his days in his office was reading inventor’s magazines and counting down the minutes until dinner time.

What came out was, “You already are.”

Brendon gave him a bewildered look. “How?”

“Your funds were transferred into my accounts three days ago,” Spencer found himself saying. “I’ve spent the last couple of days looking over the situation, and we’ll make it through to harvest for sure. And the crops are sound this year. We were able to plant early, and as long as the summer doesn’t bring too heavy droughts, we should be fine.”

This was all technically true, at least. Brendon’s funds had come in and made a comfortable addition to Spencer’s. And the crops did look good from what Zack had shown him. Spencer made himself smile reassuringly and resolutely pushed down the voice inside him demanding that he stop being a coward and tell Brendon the whole truth.

“As easy as that?” Brendon said wonderingly, face breaking out into a happy grin. “And here I’ve been worrying myself sick, thinking what I had would surely never be enough.” He shook his head at himself and then looked back up at Spencer. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For doubting you,” Brendon said. “I should have known you’d be on top of things. Everything at Summerlin speaks of it, and the servants all clearly hold you in high esteem. I’m not even that good with numbers myself. I mean, I have the education, naturally, but there’s always been someone else at home taking care of those kinds of things for me. One of the disadvantages of being the youngest, I assume.”

“I could teach you if you want,” Spencer said impulsively, regretting the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. “I mean, perhaps not the books right away,” he quickly amended. “They’re... a bit of a mess at the moment, I’m afraid. But I’d be happy to take you around the estate, show you a bit how everything works?”

Brendon lit up even more, and Spencer felt deeply guilty. Brendon becoming more involved in the running of the estate could only mean bad things for Spencer’s secret. And still. He looked at Brendon’s hopeful expression and couldn’t quite remember why that would be a bad thing.

They drank their rum in companionable silence for a while, until Brendon put down his glass with a big yawn, stretching his arms above his head and leaning back against the many pillows. “I’m so tired.”

Spencer was too. Well, most of him, anyway. “It’s probably late.”

“Would you mind if I—? It’s just, my bed seems really far away,” Brendon said, looking up at Spencer with an expression Spencer couldn’t quite decipher.

Spencer swallowed. His heart was suddenly beating at twice its normal speed and his skin seemed hyper aware of exactly how many inches there were between their bodies. The past week of seeing Brendon every day, talking to him at dinner and sharing smiles over morning tea hadn’t exactly helped the increasing attraction Spencer felt.

He met Brendon’s eyes and felt himself miss a breath. Brendon was looking back at him with dark eyes, pushing himself up on one elbow. He reached out and touched a hand to Spencer’s face, smiling shakily as he let it continue in a caress down the side of Spencer’s neck. He looked nervous, Spencer thought—more than nervous, if the uneven way he breathed was any indication—but he also looked sure, leaning in closer with an expression of absolute trust on his face that made Spencer feel nearly sick with guilt. Brendon closed his eyes.

God, Spencer couldn’t do this.

He slid off the bed carefully, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor. “I just remembered something I should have done before tomorrow,” he said, picking the first excuse that entered his mind. “I’m not all that tired, so I’ll just go take care of it now. Feel free to stay.”

He left as quickly as he could, trying not to look too much like a man fleeing his own bedroom and probably failing miserably, and deflecting Brendon’s surprised attempt to call after him with a “Goodnight” and a smile. He hid away in his office for an hour, then ventured outside, hoping a stroll in the dark grounds might clear his head a little. When exhaustion finally forced him back to his room, it was almost dawn, and Brendon was gone from his bed.


	4. Chapter 4

  


  


  


It was a rare, quiet moment for Spencer. He’d allowed the girls a day off from their lessons, so they were outside in the fields somewhere. Spencer was sure they were dressed head to toe in their riding frocks and making a mad dash for the stables the moment the okay had left his lips.

None of the servants were bothering him, and Ryan, who visited more often than not, these days, had preoccupied himself with something or other, probably tucking himself into a nook somewhere with one of Spencer’s books that he’d borrowed from Summerlin’s library.

Spencer tried to make good use of the moment to get some much needed paperwork and filing attended to—offering to show Brendon more of the estate had quickly turned into spending virtually no time in his study anymore—but found he just couldn’t put his head into it. Sunlight was streaming in through the large, open windows of his study, and it was making him fidget with restlessness. He felt a bit like a teenager again, the urgent yearning brought on by springtime sprouting in his chest and giving insistent little tugs every fifteen minutes or so. Spencer sighed.

He stared down at the papers before them, realising that his quill was already pressed beside the ‘X’ of a document to approve removing a large portion of his land’s forest. He shoved it away, dropping the quill and putting his head into his hands, ruffling his hair in frustration. His eyes wandered back to the light streaming through his windows as soon as he opened them again, and Spencer finally gave in to the urge to move closer, climbing up onto the window seat and making a nest of the pillows on it.

The study’s windows had one of the best views in Summerlin, overlooking the vast fields that rolled into hills in the distance, a creek darting through them. The water sparkled in the sun, and the rays warmed Spencer’s face and shoulders.

He smiled when Crystal came into view, her skirts gathered much too high to be proper for a lady of her age and social standing as she ran toward the hills. Her hair, which had been carefully pleated by Greta that morning, was starting to come undone, blonde waves framing her smiling face. Jackie followed after her, her skirts actually tied around her waist, her hair completely free of ribbons or trinkets. They looked so much like his mother it hurt.

Then, to Spencer’s surprise, Brendon came into view, running after the two girls. Somewhere, he’d lost the jacket he’d been wearing that morning, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, his vest in utter disarray.

He started closing in on Jackie, and when she looked over her shoulder to find him bearing down on her, Spencer could almost hear her startled yelp through the window pane. Brendon grinned and scooped her up into his arms. She flailed in his grip, tripping him so that Brendon landed gracelessly on his back, Jackie a blonde mess of skirts and waving arms.

Crystal looked like she was going into hysterics from laughing too hard.

Spencer smiled, touching his forehead to the cool window. He was relieved that Brendon liked his sisters so much and that they had taken to him so quickly. He had been nervous about Brendon being overwhelmed by the girls or the twins not liking him for some reason or another. Instead, they seemed to get along wonderfully, acting more like siblings than even Spencer and his sisters did anymore.

The springtime longing pulled at his chest again as he watched Crystal help untangle Brendon and Jackie, still laughing her head off. Brendon was laughing too, swiping grass stains off of his knees and elbows and helping pick leaves and bits of grass out of Jackie’s dress and hair.

“Damn it,” Spencer muttered, closing his eyes. He wanted so badly to go join them in their game, chasing the girls through the field. Or just spending time with them, really.

Giving in too often was dangerous, though. Every time Brendon smiled at him, it became a little harder to remember why Spencer couldn’t just reach out and touch him. Brendon easily got excited, and when he talked, he did so with his whole body, often accidentally brushing against Spencer in the process.

So Spencer rationed those moments, giving himself time to compose himself between each one. He’d allowed himself a game of mechanical chess alone with Brendon the night before. Playing tag in the sun less than 24 hours later was definitely not advisable.

Still, there was no reason why he couldn’t watch them as he did his paperwork.

Spencer stood, disturbing his nest of pillows momentarily to retrieve some documents, ink, quill and a book to use as a hard surface to write on before returning to his seat at the window.

Needless to say, he spent more time watching his family play in the sunshine than working for the rest of the afternoon.

  


  


From everything he’d seen of Summerlin since he arrived, Brendon liked the pastures the best. He started walking there almost every day, enjoying the sun and the company of the horses. This morning, Spencer was with him, walking by his side and pointing out this thing and that as they passed through the grounds.

“The horse over there is my favourite,” Brendon said once they reached the pastures, pointing out a proud gray Arabian that seemed to always keep himself at a distance from the other horses. “He never comes over when I call, and yet he always manages to get me to bring him more apples.”

Spencer laughed and climbed up on the top of the fence, offering Brendon a hand to help him up. “You want me to call him over?”

“You can try,” Brendon said, grinning. “I’m telling you, that one’s—” He broke off as Spencer whistled, a low, melodic sound that instantly made the horse look up and break into a trot, making his way towards them.

“This is Silverspoon,” Spencer said once the gelding was close enough to touch. “He’s been mine since he was a colt. Ryan bred him for me as gift on my eighteenth birthday.” He reached out and scratched the horse between the ears, and Brendon watched in amazement as the horse, instead of tossing its head as it did with Brendon, pushed into the touch, urging Spencer to find all the good spots. “Go on, say hello.”

Brendon reached out tentatively, expecting Silverspoon to shy away. With Spencer scratching him, the horse stayed calm, however, and Brendon put a hand against the gleaming coat on the neck, petting with long movements the way his horses at home had always liked. “He’s beautiful.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Spencer replied, stroking Silverspoon gently down the centre of his face. “You should come with me to Ryan’s estate sometime. He breeds the most beautiful horses.”

The thought of going somewhere with Spencer, even if it was just to his best friend’s estate, made something tingle excitedly in Brendon’s stomach. After a month at his new home, he was feeling at ease with most things, but his and Spencer’s relationship remained virtually unchanged from what it had been when they were first married. They were closer now, to be sure, and spent a lot more time together, but Spencer kept him at a distance, and every time Brendon had tried to hint at a possibility for a more intimate relationship, Spencer had been quick to step back.

Still, Brendon was nothing if not persistent.

He reached into a pocket for a couple of carrots he’d taken with him and offered one to Spencer, making sure their fingers brushed in the exchange. Spencer’s breath caught a little in his throat, but the only open acknowledgement he got was a polite “thank you” before Spencer turned his full attention back on the horse.

Brendon sighed and handed him the second carrot.

  


  
Before Brendon came to Summerlin, Spencer had found late nights most enjoyable. They were the only time of the day when he was really alone—any other moment filled with running the estate, chasing after the girls to somehow get them to study and doing various odd tasks that just needed to get done. When he was younger, he’d used to be very much like Jackie and Crystal, always into something—with Ryan as his partner in crime, of course—and never still for more than a few minutes at a time. He’d broken Silverspoon himself at nineteen and had spent many days exploring the vast expanse that was Summerlin’s fields for months after.

But then his father had died unexpectedly three years later, and with the sudden weight of a title and responsibility of caring for his sisters and Summerlin, he hadn’t had a lot of time for himself these past couple of years. Nights were his quiet time, his few moments of reprieve before bed, when he could just sit and relish the fact that people weren’t calling his name constantly.

He didn’t much enjoy those quiet nights anymore.

Spencer set the book he’d been trying to read down in his lap, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. A headache twinged behind his eyes, and he squeezed them shut.

Focusing had become almost impossible lately. It was frustrating, particularly so because he knew the cause and still couldn’t bear to do anything about it.

He’d tried telling Brendon the truth, again and again, but with every day, it became ten times harder. Brendon was making a home at Summerlin, adjusting to his new position and taking pride in finding things he could do to help Spencer run the estate. Just the other day, Brendon had taken his hand as they were walking back from the lake, telling him how glad he was that his family’s money had been able to accomplish something more meaningful than just another ship and larger numbers in a book.

Spencer had squeezed his hand and smiled, feeling guilt eat at him all over again.

He opened his eyes again, gaze lighting on the door that separated his room from Brendon’s. In his mind, there was an instant image of him crowding Brendon up against that door, hands working themselves into Brendon’s hair, guiding Brendon’s jaw up to expose just that much more skin for him to kiss.

On a hitched breath, Spencer pressed the heel of his palm into his crotch. The mental image was a frequently returning one, so familiar that he could almost imagine the heat of Brendon’s skin against his hands, feel his breath against his cheek.

He sighed, reaching into his pyjama pocket and withdrawing his watch. The intricate pattern of the golden wire that caged it gleamed in the light of the candle beside his bed. His thumb swiped over it, slowly pressing into the flowing grooves until they left impressions on his skin.

Spencer flipped the lid open, watching the teeth of the cogs piece themselves together and then pull apart again, moving at various paces to inform him with smoothly ticking hands that it was one-thirty-two and fifteen, sixteen, seventeen seconds in the morning.

His palm pressed around the pocket watch, letting the two knobs on its edge dig into his skin before he snapped it shut again and placed it on his bedside table. Somehow, he needed to make a change. If he couldn’t bring himself to tell Brendon the truth, then maybe he could find other ways to make things up to him.

Spencer blew out the candle and shook his head. He’d spent enough time pining for one night.

  


  
After meeting Silverspoon the first time, Brendon made up a plan to win him over. Spencer had told him—a note of pride in his voice—that the horse was true to his breed and a bit of a stubborn hot head when he wanted to be, but Brendon was sure that some persistence and a couple of apples would win him over.

Seven apples—not counting those Annabelle and Misty had gotten off him—and endless hours of cooing later, Brendon had barely managed to get within ten feet of Silverspoon without him trotting away, head and tail held high.

He was heading away from the fields when he heard excited barking off in the distance. He’d never seen a dog loose on the property before, and the first thought that crossed his mind was that it might be wild or rabid and would go after the horses. He rushed back toward the sound as quickly as he could, only to find that most of the horses didn’t seem particularly troubled by the barking, grazing peacefully as the shape of a little white and brown dog ran in circles around them, barking happily and wagging his tail.

When he was only a few yards away from the fence, he saw Silverspoon approach the dog, lean down to sniff it and then start trotting around in circles, swaying his head back and forth and occasionally stopping to kick up some dirt. Something about his actions looked off, not quite agitated but still not normal at all. Brendon moved closer and then slowed to a stop, suddenly realising why the horse’s actions were so alarming to him. He’d never actually seen Silverspoon—proud, aloof Silverspoon—play before.

Brendon quickly withdrew an apple from the leather bag he’d begun carrying with him to hold the apples and his lunch everyday. He used a pocketknife to slice off a piece of the apple and extended it to the dog, thinking that if he could reel in the stray, then he could lure Silverspoon to him as well.

Both the horse and the dog stopped their playing briefly, acknowledging him with steady, questioning eyes.

“Here, boy,” Brendon tried hopefully, kneeling to get down closer to the little dog’s level. “You know you want some apple, puppy.”

The dog approached him cautiously, stretching his neck to tentatively sniff at the apple. For a brief moment, Brendon thought he’d take it, but he just sneezed before returning to Silverspoon, wagging his tail happily.

Brendon huffed, then got another idea, pulling his sandwich from the bag and extending it toward the dog. “Here, boy.”

The dog regarded him once again, but when his eyes landed on Brendon’s sandwich, he pounced, eagerly biting into it. He ate most of it in under a minute, and when there was nothing but crumbs left, he turned to Brendon, pressing his nose into Brendon’s hand and lapping between his fingers.

Brendon laughed and scratched behind his ears. “Sorry, puppy. I don’t have any more than that.”

The dog didn’t seem to care; he leaned into Brendon’s scratching fingers, then flipped onto his back, his tail thumping happily against the ground.

Brendon smiled, rubbing the dog’s stomach. He noticed Silverspoon taking a careful step closer and trained his attention on playing with the dog so he didn’t scare him away. He didn’t come closer than seven or eight feet, but the dog clearly enjoyed Brendon’s attentions, so Brendon kept his focus on that, helpless in front of possibly the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

When he finally made it back to the house, Zack was there to greet him at the door. “The others are just starting to head toward the table, my lord,” he told Brendon, motioning for a servant to take his coat and hat. Then he frowned, looking past where Brendon was standing and broke into a smile. “Looks like you caught an extra shadow on your way home.”

Brendon looked over his shoulder and grinned when he saw the puppy. He knelt to scratch under the dog’s chin. It looked up at him with large brown eyes, and Brendon couldn’t keep himself from feeling a bit guilty for having to leave him. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside with me.”

The dog whined, and Brendon bit his lip.

“Oh!” Jackie exclaimed from somewhere behind him, clasping her hands. “Crystal, Brendon’s brought a puppy home!”

Instantly, Crystal rushed to the doorway. She leaned over Brendon’s shoulder, gasping happily. “He’s so cute! Brendon, where did you find it?”

The dog barked up at Crystal and darted behind Brendon to jump up, pressing his front paws against Crystal’s skirts. “He was playing with the horses in the fields,” Brendon told them. “He must have followed me home.”

Crystal scooped him up in her arms, cooing at him. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing in the whole world?”

“Yes, you are,” Jackie contributed, scratching behind his ears. “Oh, yes, you are.”

“Girls, really,” Spencer’s voice came, exasperated. “We’re supposed to be having dinner. What’s—”

“Spencer, Brendon brought home a puppy!”

Spencer appeared behind the girls with a rather bemused expression. The dog yipped at him, making him smile. “Looks like a Jack Russell.”

“Brendon found him in the fields with the horses.”

“Can we keep him?”

The girls looked at Spencer with wide, hopeful eyes, lips on the verge of trembling.

Spencer looked down at the dog thoughtfully, reaching out to pet him. “What do you think, Brendon?”

Brendon blinked up at him, surprised, and felt himself falter. Spencer was reaching out to scratch the puppy behind the ears, moving in close enough for Brendon to feel the heat coming from his body. “I didn’t mean to bring him home. He sort of just followed me.”

“Do you want him, though?” Spencer asked.

Brendon scratched the dog’s ear too, hand brushing against Spencer's and feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly happy. He smiled. “Yes.”

“Then let’s keep him.”

The girls squealed happily, hugging the dog between them. Spencer rolled his eyes and sent them off to freshen up again, telling them to ask one of the Alexes to set up a basket and some food by the fireplace in the upstairs sitting room.

“Thank you,” Brendon said, once they were out of sight. “For letting me keep him, I mean.”

He thought he could see Spencer’s cheeks pink slightly, which might just have been the evening chill that was coming in through the open door. He stepped out of the way, finally allowing Zack to shut it behind them.

“Maybe the puppy will be able to wear the girls out,” Spencer said, in a voice that was hopeful, but clearly said he wouldn’t place any bets on it. “They’ve been causing a ruckus all day long, even for Greta.” He ran his fingers through his hair, smiling tiredly. “Come on. Dinner is already on the table, and I’m sure you’re hungry after being out all day.”

Brendon pictured the girls running down the hallways with the puppy hot on their heels, Spencer opening the door to his study at regular intervals to fix them with a brotherly glare, and couldn’t help but laugh as he followed Spencer into the dining hall.

  


  
Breakfast was never a quiet affair at Summerlin, and today, Spencer thought, was one of those mornings where it was difficult to even get a word in.

The twins were prattling on about how excited they were to finally be going into town the next week. Spencer had known they’d been feeling restless lately (their increasingly frequent bickering was a testament to that) but he hadn’t thought that a shopping excursion would be literally all they would speak about until the trip actually happened.

“I can’t wait to go back to that little shop we discovered last time,” Crystal sighed happily. “I’ve never seen such beautiful hair trinkets as those.”

Jackie hummed her agreement. “Do you think that brass dragonfly with the moving wings is still there? I think I’m going to get it this time. The pink on it will look lovely with the dresses Spencer’s promised us.”

“Oh, yes! I can’t wait to go to Madame Simpson’s and put in our order. They’ll be absolutely glorious.”

“No more than an inch below those collarbones,” Spencer reminded them, though by the way they spoke right over him, he could tell that they were paying him no attention.

He sighed, exasperated. Brendon, who was sitting across from him, caught his eye, a slow smile growing on his face as he rolled his eyes affectionately at the girls.

God, that smile could probably stop London traffic.

Brendon bit his lip, seemingly hesitating about something, before leaning closer to Spencer across the table and raising his voice slightly to be heard over the girls.

“I was wondering,” he said, giving Spencer a hopeful smile, “if you would like to have a picnic with me this afternoon?”

The girls fell instantly silent, and Spencer felt his cheeks flush.

Jackie sighed dreamily. “A picnic would be wonderful on such a lovely day like this.”

Crystal clasped her hands together, smiling brightly. “Oh, Brendon, how romantic! Spencer, you just have to accept.”

“Of course he will. How could he not?” The girls looked at Spencer with bright, expectant eyes as Jackie asked, “Right, Spencer?”

Spencer set down his tea, trying his hardest to keep from turning an embarrassing shade of red. He smiled at Brendon and finally said, “It appears I have little choice in the matter.”

Brendon absolutely beamed at him.

Yes, Spencer decided, that smile could, without a doubt, stop London traffic.

  


  
“I must apologise,” Brendon said a little later as he led Spencer out into Summerlin’s fields, swinging a picnic basket between them. “I didn’t intend for you to be bullied into coming on this picnic with me, honestly.”

Spencer shook his head. “Don’t apologise. How could you have known they’d even hear you over their own conversation?”

Brendon laughed, bright and happy. “Even so, please know that my intention wasn’t to coerce you.”

“You didn’t, I assure you,” Spencer replied. He had originally planned to take care of some business that day, but even if that business had been urgent, Spencer couldn’t quite envision making a different choice. He happily allowed Brendon to lead him to the top of one of Summerlin’s hills and into the shade of a large tree before they stopped.

They set up the picnic in companionable silence, Spencer unfolding the blanket for them to sit on while Brendon unpacked their lunch. When everything was set out and ready, Brendon took a seat, smiling. “Thank you for coming with me. I haven’t been on a picnic since,” he paused, “since the royal picnic during the coronation festival.”

Spencer nodded. “Same here. But the girls always go on picnics in the summer, and I’m sure they’ll drag you along with them. In fact, I’m a little surprised they didn’t invite themselves to this one.”

Brendon laughed, reaching for a container of raspberries. “They are a bit pushy, aren’t they? In the best way possible, of course.”

“I’m not looking forward to searching for a new governess for them when Greta finally leaves us,” Spencer said. “She’s the only person I’ve met who can talk any sort of sense into them. They still run circles around everyone, but at least their elbows aren’t on the table. Usually.” Spencer sighed. “They’ve only got one more year before they’re going off to court. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them when that happens.”

Brendon shrugged, popping another berry into his mouth. “They’re good girls, Spencer. I think they’ll be fine. And when handsome young lords and ladies come calling, you’ll watch them disdainfully until they leave. The girls will then proceed to whine about you being over-protective, and you’ll tell them that it is not only your responsibility but also your right to glare at anyone within a mile radius of either of them.”

Spencer smiled. “It sounds like you know how this sort of thing goes.”

“Big family.” Brendon grinned. “My aunt has several children who are younger than I, and by the time they came out into society, I was the only one of my siblings still at home. So, the duty of glaring fell on me. They’re all happily married now, but none of their husbands or wives got to them before going through me.”

Spencer laughed, imagining Brendon staring down some nervous youth who’d had the unfortunate notion to court someone under Brendon’s care. “We’ll be a formidable match against any of their suitors, then.”

Brendon nodded. “Of course we will. But, like I said, I think Jackie and Crystal will be able to hold their own just fine.”

Up to that point, the girls had shown little interest in more than their horses and going into town, but Spencer could feel that time drawing to a close rapidly. Still, it was good to know that he’d have someone to support him through what he was sure would be a trying time. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I do.” Brendon watched him with dark, steady eyes, and Spencer felt something inside him flutter. “You’ve helped raise them into two beautiful, strong ladies. You’re a good big brother, Spencer.”

Spencer swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Brendon said, a hint of teasing in his smile. “Raspberry?”

“Please.”

“Close your eyes,” Brendon said.

Spencer gave him a sceptical look. “Why?”

“Don’t you have any sense of adventure?” Brendon asked, definitely teasing now. “Have a little faith. Close your eyes.”

Spencer frowned but did as told, trying to suppress the instinct to dodge as he felt Brendon move in closer. Growing up with Ryan had provided some excellent lessons about vigilance that were hard to unlearn. Spencer still remembered the time they were five and six and Ryan had try to feed him a worm in a situation very similar to the one he was in now.

“Open your mouth.”

Spencer did. Reluctantly. Brendon leaned in closer.

Spencer’s first reaction was relief, recognising the familiar texture of a raspberry against his bottom lip. He pursed his lips to take it into his mouth, and relief was quickly followed by shock when he felt Brendon’s lips brush against his own, pushing the berry forward.

Brendon kissed him; Spencer could still feel the smile on his lips. The flavour of raspberry filled his mouth, and he subconsciously parted his lips wider to let Brendon taste it, raising one hand to Brendon’s cheek to keep him in place.

Brendon made a small sound at the back of his throat, kissing back eagerly, and something painful tightened in Spencer’s chest.

He nearly winced when he had to push Brendon back, a familiar sense of guilt washing over him at the sight of Brendon’s confused expression.

“Spencer..?”

Spencer reached between them and took Brendon’s hand in his. “Brendon, there’s something I—”

“What?” Brendon asked quickly. “Tell me.”

“It’s. God, Brendon, I really don’t know how to say this.”

“Did you not like it?” Brendon asked, looking worried. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, no,” Spencer said quickly. “No, I liked it. It’s just—” He met Brendon’s eyes, seeing the uncertainty there, mixed not only with hurt but with something that looked a lot like hope. Brendon squeezed his hand. God, this was so not the right time.

“I don’t think we should,” Spencer finished lamely, kicking himself inside. “I mean,” he quickly amended as a different thought popped into his head, “I think we’ve gone about this the wrong way. Our marriage happened so quickly, and now I can’t help but feel...” He felt a blush spread across his face. “I want to court you, Brendon. Properly.”

Brendon pulled back, surprise clear on his face. The he ducked his head, and Spencer could see a small smile touch his lips.

Brendon looked up, face as pink as Spencer’s felt. Then, he laughed brightly. “We’re going about this backwards, aren’t we, courting after we’re already married?”

Spencer could still feel the blush burning at his cheeks, but he couldn’t help but laugh as well.

  


  
Brendon’s legs were cramping and his back was sore, but the day had been well worth it. The girls had dragged him to London with them, showing him all the little shops they’d discovered on their escapades, forcing little trinkets and the occasional confection on him and generally showering him with attention.

He’d have thought that a day that full of excitement and surprises would have had them chattering on the entire ride back to Summerlin, but apparently, it had absolutely exhausted them instead. They sat across from him in the carriage, fast asleep and leaning against each other. The curls that had been in Crystal’s hair that morning had flattened out, and Jackie’s chignon had fallen down long ago. A hat that Crystal had fallen in love with in town was currently in her lap, slowly sliding out of her grasp. Brendon caught it before it hit the floor, gently placing it next to him.

The carriage finally came to a halt, and Brendon breathed a sigh of relief as the door was opened and the girls woke up just enough to be able to walk up to their room.

He took a single box from the veritable pile of shopping the girls had accumulated and left instructions with a servant that all of the other things be taken upstairs before turning toward the house.

“Good evening, my lord,” Zack greeted him as he entered, helping Brendon out of his jacket. “You had a good trip, I take it?”

“Very good, thank you, Zack.” Brendon smiled tiredly. “The girls really enjoyed themselves, I think.”

“I’m sure they did. They were practically asleep on their feet as they went up to their room.”

“Good. I’m sure they’re easier to keep up with when they’re like that.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “Zack, you wouldn’t happen to know where Spencer is, would you?”

“I believe he’s in the West parlour,” Zack said. “Good night, my lord.”

Brendon nodded. “Thank you, Zack. Good night.”

As Zack moved off to his own quarters, Brendon headed for the West parlour, the box he’d taken from the pile held close.

The double doors to the parlour were open, and Brendon smiled at the sight before him. Spencer was sitting with his back to him, apparently engrossed in a novel as he sipped at a glass of red wine. Brendon entered the room quietly, not really wanting to disturb the scene but excited to do so at the same time.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft as he settled himself on the armrest of Spencer’s chair.

Spencer looked up at him with a smile, shifting away automatically to make more room. “Welcome back.”

Brendon felt his heart skip a beat. He stayed still for a moment and then, in a fit of daring, leaned yet a little bit closer. “It’s good to be back.”

Spencer kept smiling. “How was the trip?”

“Exhausting, but fun. The girls gave me my own personal tour of everything worth seeing in the entire city.”

Spencer laughed, low and understanding, making Brendon feel suddenly warm. “The girls were very excited to show you everything before you left, so I can only imagine that excitement escalated once you got there.”

“By tenfold,” Brendon agreed. “I’m glad to be home.”

Spencer’s face softened at that, and his arm brushed against Brendon’s thigh, if only barely.

“I only wish you could have come with us,” Brendon continued. “I hated leaving you behind. Especially with nothing but estate affairs to entertain you. But I brought you something back.” He offered the box he was holding to Spencer. “Consider it an apology. Or a souvenir, perhaps.”

Spencer gave him a curious look before untying the ribbon around the box and lifting the lid, taking out a small, silver box decorated in delicate, silver-purple lilacs.

“It’s a Dream Box,” Brendon explained. “You put it by your bed, and it gives you sweet dreams. At least, that’s what the man at the shop said.”

Spencer smiled, setting the box in he lap. “Thank you.”

Brendon ducked his head, leaning in, forgetting himself for a moment. Spencer evaded him.

Brendon sighed. “I know, I know. Slow.”

Spencer watched him for a moment, clearly conflicted. Then he gently took Brendon’s face in his hands, bringing him down for a soft, chaste kiss.

Brendon shivered, his mouth tingling delightfully. He pressed his forehead to Spencer’s, closing his eyes and revelling in the moment.

It was definitely good to be back home.

  


  
Spencer twisted his hands, scolding himself inwardly for the nervous gesture but unable to stop and feeling that he had to look absolutely ridiculous to the servants passing him on their way to complete early morning chores. He was standing outside of his own husband’s door at an almost ungodly hour, looking like he was about to commit some sort of indecency—which was an extremely silly thing to worry about, since Brendon was, after all, Spencer’s _husband_.

He was being ridiculous. Spencer rounded his shoulders, took a deep breath and forced himself to knock. When Brendon didn’t come immediately, Spencer bit his lip. Should he knock again? He didn’t want to be an annoyance, and he’d certainly understand why someone would be annoyed at being roused so early.

Spencer fought back and forth with himself for a few more moments; he was about to turn and leave when the door swung open and Brendon suddenly stood right in front of him, still tying a robe around himself, his hair an utter mess. The little terrier, Bogart, had taken to sleeping in Brendon’s room and was now practically dancing around his feet.

“Spencer?” Brendon blinked blearily up at him, bending to scoop Bogart up into his arms. “Is everything all right?”

Spencer didn’t know how Brendon managed to look so attractive directly after tumbling out of bed, but he couldn’t deny that Brendon rubbing the sleep from his eyes and leaning against the door frame was incredibly endearing.

“I,” he stammered, wishing he’d taken the time to rehearse what he was about to say a bit more. “I was awake and. I was just thinking that I’ve been busier than usual attending to Summerlin or running after the girls.” Christ, he sounded like a nervous teenager. “And I was wondering if you’d care to join me on a morning ride.”

Brendon stepped back for a moment, squinting at the cuckoo clock he’d recently procured on a shopping excursion with Jackie and Crystal. “It’s barely past six.”

Too early. Of course it was too early. Spencer mentally kicked himself. “I understand,” he said. “This was a rather sudden request. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Brendon smiled sleepily at him. “If you’ll wait a few minutes, it won’t take me long to get dressed. I’ll meet you down in the dining hall?”

Spencer returned his smile, reminding himself to reign it in a bit. He didn’t want to look desperate and end up scaring Brendon away when there was something so important to show him. “Of course.”

Brendon nodded. “See you there.”

The door softly clicked as Brendon shut it, and Spencer automatically stifled the urge to open it again, just as he almost nightly stifled the urge to open the door that separated their rooms. If he was going to eventually win Brendon over, he reminded himself, he had to be a gentleman; that was how courting worked.

God, but it was hard to accomplish sometimes.

Regardless, he quickly quashed any thoughts that wanted to run in a more inappropriate direction and withdrew his riding gloves from his jacket’s pocket, pulling them on as he headed for the dining hall to wait.

It was only about ten minutes before Brendon came down the stairs, looping a leather bag over his shoulder and combing his fingers quickly through his hair. Bogart danced happily around his feet, his entire back-end wagging from side to side.

Spencer smiled. “Ready?”

Brendon nodded. “Mostly. I don’t have any gloves. Somehow, getting some never came up when Crystal and Jackie took me shopping last week. I don’t really mind calluses on my hands, though.”

“Are you sure?” Spencer’s brow furrowed. “I’m positive I can find you a pair somewhere around here, for now. We’ll have some made for you the next time the girls insist on a shopping adventure.”

Brendon laughed. “I’m fine, Spencer. Really. I’m more concerned with what horse I’m going to ride. The girls will kill me if I try for Annabelle or Misty, and I’ve only just made friends with Silverspoon, not to mention he’s your horse in the first place. I haven’t really got to know the other horses yet.”

Spencer bit his lip, trying to contain his excitement. “We’ll figure something out,” he said. “Come on, the sun is breaking over the horizon.”

  


  
When they got to the stables, Cash was finishing saddling Silverspoon, pushing up on the horse’s belly before buckling the strap. He smiled as they approached. “Good morning, my lords.”

“Good morning, Cash,” Spencer greeted. “Is he still holding his breath when you saddle him?”

Cash nodded, giving Silverspoon a slanted look. “He’s too smart for his own good, my lord. I’ve been trying to work with him on it, especially since you’ve been around the estate more often lately, but he just won’t be broken of the habit.”

“Hm.” Spencer took hold of Silverspoon’s reins and ran his hand down his nose. “Are you being terrible, Silverspoon? You’re really too old to be acting like a colt, now.”

Silverspoon nickered at him, nudging Spencer’s hand. “You’re hopeless, you stubborn thing.”

Brendon laughed. “At least he lets you touch him. He barely can stand my presence, even after all this time, not to mention the dozens of apples I’ve given him as peace offerings.”

“Ross Arabians are sneaky,” Spencer said with a smile. “They’ll take your peace offerings and double cross you without a second thought.” He fondly scratched the white mark between Silverspoon’s eyes. “Cash, is the other ready?”

Cash nodded. “Of course, my lord.” He disappeared into a stall at the end of the stables and reappeared a moment later leading a beautiful black horse by the reins, handing them over to Spencer.

“Oh, wow,” Brendon said, eyes wide. “Are you really going to let me ride him? Is he another one of Ryan’s?”

“He was, but Ryan said he was too high spirited for his particular tastes,” Spencer replied. “I assumed he’d be perfect for you.”

“You... You bought him for me?”

Spencer held out the reins to Brendon, his heart beating fast. “His name is Allegro.”

Brendon hesitated a moment before tentatively accepting the reins. “Hello, Allegro,” he almost whispered, voice slightly rough as he ran a hand down the horse’s neck. “How are you this morning?” He turned to Spencer and smiled, bright and impossibly wide. “ _Thank you_.”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush. “I was hoping you’d like him.”

“Of course I do,” Brendon said, his voice soft and reverent. The horse looked at Brendon with bright, curious eyes, its ears pricked forward and its tail held high. It snorted at him then pawed at the ground. Brendon laughed, low and soft. “Are you getting restless, boy? Ready to try me out as a rider? Let’s go, then.”

They led their horses out of the stables and set off for the woods West of the manor. Allegro was definitely of high spirits, Spencer noted, dancing across the ground rather than walking and trying to throw his head up whenever something new crossed their path. Brendon seemed to be handling him well, however, giving the horse just enough rein to blow off some energy while keeping him steady, and Spencer soon stopped worrying and started to enjoy the ride, leading them through the woods at a quick trot. The horses relaxed into it more as well, and Spencer sat back deeper in the saddle, signalling Silverspoon to lengthen his gait and curve his neck, making the ride smooth and easy.

They rode for over an hour, Spencer taking the opportunity to show Brendon parts of the estate he hadn’t seen before and just spending time with him, talking about everything and nothing at all as they paused for a while by a stream and let the horses drink their fill. As breakfast time approached and was passed, they turned to go back, urging their horses into another fast trot.

As they broke out of the woods, they came to another stop, both of them smiling widely and breathing hard as they looked across the land spreading out before them. Spencer raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, deliberating over where to go next to get home most quickly.

Brendon beat him to it.

“Race you across the field?”

Spencer nodded, excited, and answered Brendon’s grin before putting his heels to Silverspoon’s sides. He leaned forward in the saddle as they picked up speed, giving a little more rein and letting Silverspoon’s gait flatten out into a gallop. He could hear Brendon right behind him, gaining on them, coming up side by side as they jumped a hedge together and crossed into the next field.

“Bye, Spencer,” Brendon called over his shoulder as Allegro went impossibly faster, leaving Spencer and Silverspoon in the dust.

“It’s not over yet,” Spencer called back, with more bravado than he felt, because Brendon was almost at the creek, bound to get there first unless Silverspoon suddenly spurted wings, and—

The creek. Spencer’s heart seized up with sudden panic. As far as he knew, Brendon had never walked this particular path before. Which meant he wouldn’t know about the way the ground dropped after the last hedge, or about the deep ditch that ran right behind it, guiding water from creek to the fields nearby. If Brendon didn’t see it in time...

He called Brendon’s name, flattening himself against Silverspoon’s neck, begging him to run faster. Brendon and Allegro came up to the hedge, and Spencer saw the moment they realised what lay behind, heard Brendon cry out in surprise and distress as Allegro twisted his hind legs mid-jump, bucking to make the ditch and sending Brendon flying out of the saddle.

And then there was nothing.

“No!” Spencer forced himself to rein Silverspoon in, shortening his gait in preparation for the jump. They cleared the ditch easily, both of them knowing the terrain too well not to, and Spencer was out of the saddle almost before the horse had fully come to a halt.

“Brendon!”

Brendon was lying in the grass, looking broken and far too still. Spencer fell to his knees, leaning over him and pressing two fingers against Brendon’s neck, desperately checking for a sign that he was still alive. He almost choked in relief when he felt a faint pulse, quickly moving to turn Brendon onto his back, taking Brendon’s head in his lap to lift him up a little and make it easier for him to breathe.

Brendon slowly began to stir, letting out a pained moan that made Spencer’s chest clench up in fear all over again. The hand that wasn’t holding on to Brendon’s shoulder went to his face, and when Brendon blinked and opened his eyes, looking up at Spencer with a puzzled expression, Spencer was utterly lost. He bent his head, pulling Brendon closer and tilting his face up, taking his mouth in a desperate kiss, letting the fear give way to relief when Brendon moved further into his touch and kissed him back, just as fervently. Brendon’s hands went to Spencer’s jacket, moving uncertainly over the dark material on Spencer’s shoulders before growing bolder and finding their way to his waistcoat and shirt. Spencer responded in kind, all thoughts of propriety and boundaries forgotten as he kissed Brendon again, tangling both hands in his hair as Brendon rolled them over and came down on top of him.

Brendon’s lips travelled down the side of his face to his neck, hands stroking along the fabric of Spencer’s collar, pulling at it ineffectively to clear the way for those maddening kisses to move lower, making Spencer’s breath turn short and laboured in the process.

Brendon moved to a spot just beneath Spencer’s jaw, accidentally grazing it with his teeth, and Spencer found himself arching off the ground, head thrown back on a moan and dizzy with fear and adrenaline and the overwhelming pleasure of Brendon’s hands and mouth, warming him up from the inside until he was trashing on the ground, unable to decide what part to press closer to Brendon and defaulting to trying for everything at the same time. He pulled Brendon back up and took his mouth in another deep kiss, running his hands down Brendon’s back before shakily sliding them between their bodies and finding the buttons of Brendon’s waistcoat.

Brendon moaned into his mouth, pressing his body eagerly into Spencer’s hands. And then he suddenly froze, breaking the kiss and scrambling away, pulling at his dishevelled clothing.

“What—?” Spencer managed, mindlessly trying to follow as Brendon pulled back, his whole body aching to get him back on the ground.

“Someone’s coming,” Brendon replied, brushing grass off his trousers and trying to smooth his hair down. “Quick. Hurry.”

The words effectively cut through the fog in Spencer’s head, and true enough, there were the definite sounds of a horse and rider approaching, probably just down the path through the nearby woods and about to break into the clearing at any moment.

“Shit.”

Spencer’s hands automatically went to his shirt, trying to straighten any wrinkles and looking wildly around for his riding hat that he’d lost in his haste to get to Brendon’s side. Brendon scrambled for his own, putting it on his head and managing to get the top button on his waistcoat refastened just in time.

Crystal and Jackie burst into the clearing, looking scared and flushed from riding, Crystal holding the reins of Silverspoon tightly. In the chaos of everything that had happened, Spencer hadn’t even noticed he’d wandered off.

“Oh my God, are you all right?” Crystal exclaimed.

“We were just on the other side of the woods, and Silverspoon came through.”

“Alone.”

“What happened?”

“Did you take a fall?”

“Are you okay?”

“Did you break anything?”

“We’re fine,” Brendon said, giving the girls a smile and starting to look around the clearing for his own horse. “Spencer didn’t fall, I did. I took a jump wrong, that’s all. Silly of me. We were racing and I didn’t look ahead.”

“You were racing?” Crystal asked, astonished. “Spencer _never_ lets us race!”

Spencer gave her a look. “Brendon just fell off his horse. I’d think you’d have more manners than to debate that sort of thing right now.”

Crystal bit her lip and looked down, cheeks blushing.

“No, no, really,” Brendon insisted again. “I’m perfectly fine. Just a couple of scrapes here and there. Maybe we should get back to the house, though, so I can take care of them.”

Spencer nodded. “Of course. Do you think you can ride, or..?”

Brendon smiled. “I’m scratched and bruised, not crippled.” He moved towards Allegro, who was grazing happily behind a group of trees. The slow, jerking movements he made told Spencer that he was in pain, but Brendon still managed to haul himself back up on his horse, wincing as he brought his leg up and over.

Spencer bit his lip, unsure whether or not he should let Brendon continue back to the house on Allegro in his condition, but the horse seemed fairly calm for just having thrown his rider, and Brendon didn’t seem to be in incredible pain when Allegro followed his lead, slowly walking back toward Summerlin.

Spencer quickly mounted Silverspoon and signalled to him to follow Brendon. “Come on, girls.”

Jackie and Crystal fell into a slow pace behind them, and Spencer rode up beside Brendon, careful not to spook Allegro a second time.

Getting to Summerlin took longer than anticipated, and it was almost lunch time before they were back at the house, horses safely in the stables with Ian.

Greta started fussing over Brendon the moment she saw him, her face growing alarmed as the girls explained what had happened. She pulled him into the front parlour and instructed him to sit and wait as she went and retrieved bandages and alcohol.

Spencer watched sullenly as she cleaned him up, chiding him like a child and shooing the girls away to give him a chance to breathe. When she was finally done bandaging his few scrapes, she smiled and told him to get some rest before excusing herself, leaving Spencer and Brendon alone at last.

There was a moment when Spencer wasn’t sure what he should say, if he should even say anything at all about what happened between them. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d taken advantage of Brendon somehow; he’d looked so vulnerable, and Spencer had been so frightened at the prospect of him being seriously hurt or worse. And then he wasn’t, and—

“I—” Spencer started, at the same time as Brendon said, “Spencer—”

Brendon smiled. “You first.”

Spencer pushed down the impulse of closing the distance and pressing his lips to Brendon’s smile. He cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologise for earlier,” he said, looking away. “I was... afraid and let an impulse take me over. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

He kept his eyes down, turning towards the window and proceeding to stare out at the grounds as the silence grew between them.

“Spencer.”

Spencer steeled himself and turned around. Brendon took a step closer, then hesitated, confusion and something uncertain flickering across his face.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated, looking away again and wishing they could just go back to doing what they had this morning, with the jokes and easy camaraderie instead of the thick tension between them now.

“No need to apologise,” Brendon said, taking a step back. “Everything is fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Spencer watched him leave with a heavy feeling in his stomach, repressing the sudden urge to go after Brendon and ask him to stay, to tell him how he could barely work anymore because all he could think about was getting out of his office and trying to make Brendon smile.

God, Spencer was so bad at this whole courting thing.

There was a knock at the door only moments later, and Spencer’s head immediately snapped towards the sound, heart beating fast in his chest at the thought of Brendon coming back. “Come in.”

He barely managed to conceal his disappointment when a messenger stepped into the room, bowing quickly and handing over an official-looking letter. Spencer thanked him and turned the letter over to look at the seal. It bore the royal stamp. Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I will need to bring a reply back directly, my lord,” the messenger said. “His Majesty was most insistent.”

Spencer nodded. “I will have one drawn up in an hour or so. Please ask one of the servants to direct you to the kitchens in the meantime.”

The messenger bowed his acceptance and left, leaving Spencer alone with the letter in his hand. He walked over to his desk and sat down, breaking the seal and smoothing out the rich parchment. The note was brief and to the point, and Spencer could actually feel himself pale as he read it a second time, wishing rather than believing that he was mistaken in its meaning.

After the third time, there was no avoiding it. Spencer folded up the letter with unsteady hands and left the room to find his husband.

Their marriage had been contested. Spencer and Brendon were summoned to court.

  


  
“A what?”

“A summons from the king,” Spencer said, pacing in front of the windows in a way that was starting to make Brendon nervous. “Our marriage has been contested.”

“But why?” Brendon said, an uneasy feeling starting to spread in his gut. “And by whom? Who could possibly have grounds for such a thing?”

“Oh, I can think of a few people,” Spencer said, sounding agitated. “Your parents, for example. You married without their consent.”

“I’m of age,” Brendon replied. “And they were absolutely delighted, look.” He briskly walked over to his desk, searching in the top drawer for the letter he had received from his father shortly after they arrived at Summerlin. “My father congratulates me on my most fortunate match and lets us know that he’ll be of assistance to my lord and husband in whichever way he can. They wanted me to marry a noble, Spencer. And you’re far beyond their wildest expectations. It couldn’t be them.”

“The man they contracted you to then,” Spencer said. “Lord Saporta isn’t known to simply accept it when things don’t go his way.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Brendon conceded. “But I never signed the engagement papers. He doesn’t have a valid claim.”

Spencer kept pacing, muttering about how formalities weren’t something that would keep Lord Saporta from trying to get something he wanted. Then he suddenly stopped short.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Brendon said, hearing his voice crack a little. “Spencer, what is it?”

“I’m—” Spencer started, eyes wide. “We didn’t marry in the proper context. It wasn’t witnessed correctly.”

“Because Mikey was mostly asleep?” Brendon asked. “How would anyone even know that? I’m sure Gerard and Frank would testify that—”

“It’s not that,” Spencer interrupted him. “The Marquess of Summerlin must be married in presence of the king or queen. His future spouse must be approved beforehand; it’s a meaningless, tradition-driven decree that goes back to the time my family received the title. God, I can’t believe I forgot!”

“There was no time,” Brendon insisted, stepping close and grabbing Spencer’s left arm to keep him from pacing. “I was about to leave. You saved me. If you hadn’t, I’d probably been somewhere in the colonies right now, trying my hand at hunting buffaloes or joining up with a native tribe. Surely, the king will understand.”

Spencer looked away, and Brendon got the same feeling as he’d had earlier when they came back from the woods, like Spencer was pulling away, unwilling to be too close to Brendon’s person.

Brendon let go of his arm and stepped back.

“We should start packing,” Spencer said. “Take your most expensive things. We need to show ourselves from our best side. I’ll alert the servants that we’re leaving. Someone should be up shortly to help.”

“Spencer,” Brendon tried, reaching out and catching Spencer’s hand to keep him from leaving. A million questions were suddenly swirling in his mind, mixed with a fear that grew steadily stronger. “Spencer, wait.”

“I have to go,” Spencer told him, face softening when he met Brendon’s eyes. “I need to send a messenger to Rosings, ask Ryan to borrow some things. Court this time of year is an endless parade of parties and balls, and there is no time to have you fitted for those kinds of clothes. Whatever Ryan can spare will have to do for now.”

“But—” Brendon tried again, suddenly overwhelmed by the prospect of being at court in the capacity of a titled nobleman of high standing. Of being expected to join in the festivities instead of just watching politely from the sidelines. His head began to spin.

“I’ll send someone up right away,” Spencer promised, bringing Brendon’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you at dinner, and then we leave tomorrow at first light.”

He walked out with a rueful look thrown over his shoulder at Brendon, and Brendon numbly walked over to his bed, slumping down on it and looking blankly out the window.


	5. Chapter 5

  


  


  


Decaydance Palace was even grander than Brendon remembered it, spreading out in all directions and large enough to make Summerlin seem like a modest cottage. A small entourage of servants met them when they arrived, showing them through endless corridors until they came to a set of rooms in the East wing.

“Are these your rooms?” Brendon asked, following Spencer inside and marvelling at the thick, creamy carpet on the floor and beautiful brocade fabrics covering every conceivable surface.

“Yes,” Spencer said, showing the servants into a room on the left and telling them to make sure all clothes were brushed and straightened impeccably before going in the wardrobe. “I wanted for us to stay at Ryan’s—they’re a great deal bigger than these—but apparently the duke is in town for the season, so it wasn’t possible.”

“The duke?” Brendon asked, brushing his hand over one of the many pillows on a nearby settee.

“Ryan’s father,” Spencer explained, shrugging out of his coat and handing it to a nearby servant. “Not a very pleasant man, I’m afraid, but he almost never attends court functions. We probably won’t even see him on this visit.”

“Oh,” Brendon said, turning his attention to the many paintings on the walls. “So what happens now?”

“I will send a note to the king, informing him of our arrival,” Spencer replied. “And then we’ll await his summons. If I know the king, he’ll keep us in the dark for a little while yet, wanting to observe before making a decision. We’ll probably be expected at dinner tonight.”

“Will it be very formal?” Brendon asked. “I’m not sure the clothes Ryan lent me can be altered in such short a time, and I don’t want to put us at a disadvantage.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment and then walked over to him, pulled him close and pressed a quick kiss to Brendon’s temple. “This is the royal court,” he said, giving Brendon a small smile. “It will be done in time, I promise.”

Brendon nodded weakly, luxuriating in the warmth of Spencer’s hand on his waist before Spencer pulled back.

He couldn’t help but think that everything felt much colder than before.

  


  


Spencer closed his bedroom door and walked over to the bed, allowing himself to sprawl for a moment as he closed his eyes and processed everything that had happened during the night.

They had gone to dinner in the main hall, Brendon in Ryan’s altered court finery, which made him fidget more than general nervousness accounted for, and Spencer with a big smile on his face that felt more stale and unnatural every passing minute.

They hadn’t been announced at the door, one of the pages arriving an hour before dinner and telling Spencer that they were to be summoned in front of the king the next day and that, until then, they should keep a low profile so as not to complicate matters. Spencer felt slightly sick at the implication, but acquiesced to the king’s will, keeping Brendon close while maintaining a courteous distance.

Brendon had been unusually quiet, clearly out of his depth and ill at ease with the new situation. He ate very little, and the only time Spencer saw him break into a genuine smile all night was when an unusually talented harp player took to the stage. As the evening went on, it became more and more clear to Spencer how little Brendon actually knew about being part of the high nobility—how a million little things that Spencer had found easy for as long as he could remember were unfamiliar and puzzling to him. Brendon needed a tutor as soon as possible, that much was clear, but something inside Spencer balked at the prospect; the Brendon he’d been getting to know at Summerlin was a breath of fresh air—immediate and artless and so unlike the average courtier. Something purely selfish deep inside Spencer wanted to keep him that way.

His right hand moved to the fourth finger on his left, absently twisting the unfamiliar weight of the gold band sitting there. It had been a last minute addition, an attempt to make their marriage look official and conventional. Brendon had been subconsciously touching his all through dinner, rather negating the intended effect. Spencer sighed.

The sound of the door to the adjacent room opening startled him, making him turn towards the noise. Brendon walked in, hair damp from a bath and dressed only in a nightshirt with one of Spencer’s robes wrapped loosely around him. Before Spencer could speak, Brendon crossed the floor and came to stand by the bed, removing his robe and draping it over a nearby chair before slipping carefully between the sheets.

Spencer pulled in a sharp breath, unable to think of anything to say as Brendon scooted closer.

“If we’re going in front of the king in the morning,” Brendon said uncertainly, pushing himself up higher against the pillows, “maybe we should. I know that it’s probably not what you want, at least not yet, but. If we want this to—maybe we should make sure the marriage is as binding as we can make it.”

He reached into the breast pocket of his night shirt, pulling out a length of familiar lace.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. “Are you—”

Brendon answered by pressing the lace carefully into Spencer’s hand, tangling their fingers together and leaning in to press his lips to Spencer’s in a soft, trembling kiss. “I want to stay married to you.”

Spencer felt something tighten painfully in his chest. Familiar feelings of hesitation and guilt sprang up at the back of his mind, but in front of them was the feeling of Brendon’s lips, brushing against Spencer’s and making everything else feel so irrelevant.

Brendon kissed him again, and Spencer felt his resolve give, lips parting of their own accord to beckon Brendon closer. They were going before the king the next day. And while consummating their marriage wouldn’t change much if King Peter truly wanted to dissolve it, it was a strong statement. A statement _Brendon_ wanted to make.

Spencer bit back a moan.

“Me too,” he managed, subconsciously tightening his grip on Brendon’s hand.

“Are you sure?”

Spencer nodded, swallowing past the sudden tightness in his throat. “Yes.”

“Then come here.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, leaning closer when Brendon pulled him in. Their lips met again, and Spencer felt his head begin to spin as Brendon’s tongue traced the line of his bottom lip, begging Spencer without words to come even closer.

“Give me your hand,” Spencer breathed, rolling them over. He managed to get Brendon on his back, narrowly preventing himself from letting out a groan at the feeling of their bodies pressing together.

Brendon moved with him, arching up into Spencer’s touch before pushing him off again, scrambling into a sitting position and holding out his hand. Spencer followed his lead, rearranging himself until they were face to face, on their knees in the middle of the bed. Spencer took the lace with his right hand, grabbing Brendon’s hand with his left and starting to ease the material down over their knuckles.

“Wait,” Brendon said.

Spencer froze, then started to pull back, uncertain. Brendon stopped him.

“I just meant—” Brendon said, letting go of Spencer’s hand, his face blushing a bright red. “We should probably, um, get rid of our clothes. You know, before.”

A relieved laugh broke from Spencer’s throat, and Brendon echoed him, both of them collapsing against the pillows, laughing until Spencer’s face felt sore with it. Brendon kept a smile on his face as he guided them back up again, reaching out to help Spencer wriggle out of his shirt.

“Can I—” Brendon started, placing a tentative hand on Spencer’s chest. “Do you mind if we—can I touch you? Before we start?”

Spencer wet his lips, nodding even as he reached for Brendon’s face. They met in the middle, pressing together, kissing deeply as Brendon’s hands explored the planes of Spencer’s back. Spencer’s hands, in turn, found their way into Brendon’s hair, loving the way Brendon made little sounds in his throat whenever Spencer brushed over the nape of his neck.

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat as Brendon began to push him back against the bed, hands getting bolder and more inquisitive as they slid down his chest to the drawstring of his trousers. Brendon paused for a moment, biting his lip in indecision and looking up at Spencer uncertainly. Spencer’s head was spinning, sudden possibilities of what Brendon might do to him—might _want_ to do to him—making him lose his breath completely. He must have managed some sort of gesture, however, because Brendon smiled at him and ducked his head, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Spencer’s stomach. His fingers followed his mouth, light, hesitant touches that gradually moved lower, finally reaching the knot at Spencer’s waistband and pulling it free, easing the material down with maddening slowness.

Spencer arched into the touch, eyelashes fluttering as the trousers were pulled off, leaving him exposed in the centre of the bed. Brendon kissed his way down his stomach and over to his hip, grazing his teeth over Spencer’s hipbone and drawing an embarrassingly loud sound from him.

“God, Brendon.”

Brendon looked up at him, eyes dazed and darker than Spencer had ever seen them before. “Is this okay?” He pressed another kiss to the top of Spencer’s hip, opening his mouth a little to suck at the spot. Spencer’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Spencer gave himself a mental shake, trying to think past how close Brendon’s mouth was to his dick and managed to roll them over, pushing Brendon up against the pillows and reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Come here. Lift up for me?”

Brendon did as he was told, sitting up and raising his arms. Spencer fumbled with the first few buttons before finally getting the shirt loose enough to comfortably pull it off him, having to stop a few times on the way to claim another kiss from Brendon’s mouth.

The fabric slid away from Brendon easily, revealing Brendon’s smile and mussed hair. Spencer, so used to quelling the urge to run his fingers through Brendon’s hair, indulged himself, burying his hands in it and bringing Brendon closer, kissing him until they were both breathless.

“Wait,” Brendon panted softly. He shakily reached for the robe he’d folded, delving into its pocket to withdraw a small bottle of oil. “My brother. When I came of age, he gave me one of these. Told me that when I got married, it would come in useful.”

He looked up at Spencer, a fresh blush spreading down his neck. Spencer felt himself echo it.

He took the bottle from Brendon and uncorked it, pouring some of the liquid into his palm before setting the bottle on the bedside table. He reached for Brendon’s hand.

The oil warmed quickly between their fingers, and Spencer shivered as Brendon caressed first one finger and then a second, smoothing the oil over Spencer’s skin. He leaned forward, kissing Spencer’s mouth, his jaw, behind his ear, before letting his hand fall, gripping Spencer’s erection for the first time.

Spencer gasped as the slick heat of Brendon’s hand slid over him, shuddering as Brendon varied his pace, trying out different grips and searching for things that made Spencer tremble. He reached for Brendon, bringing his face close and kissing him fiercely, suddenly in desperate need of something to anchor him as Brendon’s hand sped up, coaxing almost unbearable pleasure from Spencer’s body.

“Right,” Brendon said breathlessly, when Spencer was sure he couldn’t take much more, leaning in to kiss Spencer again before manhandling him into a sitting position. “Scoot up a little. Give me your hand.”

He turned his back, shifting closer until he was practically in Spencer’s lap. Spencer blinked, not understanding what he was after, until he suddenly did and heat surged through him all over again. He pulled his legs in underneath himself, reaching out and wrapping his left arm around Brendon’s waist, stifling a groan as Brendon’s ass rubbed up against his aching dick.

Brendon pulled in a sharp breath and reached for the lace, tangling the fingers of his left hand with Spencer’s and pulling the beautiful material down over both of them, craning his neck to kiss Spencer over his shoulder as they felt the lace settle into place, tightening around their wrists.

“I—” Brendon whispered, tightening his fingers around Spencer’s until it was almost painful. “Do you—? I don’t—”

Spencer buried his face against Brendon’s neck, fighting to keep in control. His body was telling him where it wanted to go, but something inside his head made him hesitate. He put his free hand on Brendon’s hip, feeling it skate wetly across the skin. He traced a line along the curve of Brendon’s ass experimentally, drawing a sharp breath as Brendon pushed himself up to get closer. Spencer watched, fascinated, as his fingers moved lower, then lower still, until he brushed against something and Brendon let out a moan.

“There. I think—just—Spencer, _please_.”

Spencer closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the top of Brendon’s back to keep himself together. He pushed with one finger, moving it carefully deeper until it was all the way inside. Brendon threw his head back, panting.

“Again.”

Spencer bit his lip in concentration and tried to repeat what he’d just done, sliding his finger out carefully and pushing it back in. Brendon urged him on wordlessly, pushing his hips back, setting the pace as Spencer added a second finger, then a third until they were both rocking together, Brendon turning into an incoherent, moaning mess in his arms.

“Now,” Brendon said, pulling his hips away from Spencer’s and angling his head back, searching for Spencer’s mouth. “Can we, please? Now?”

Spencer nodded fervently, capturing Brendon’s mouth with his as he reached between them and lined himself up. Brendon pressed back, moaning low in his throat when they got the angle right and Spencer felt himself slip inside.

He ducked his head, pressing his face firmly against Brendon’s neck as he slid deeper, feeling Brendon surround him and take him in, gripping Spencer’s hand tightly as they moved together, rocking against each other in small, careful movements until Spencer was in to the hilt.

He started to move his hips, unable to help himself. His other arm went around Brendon’s chest, holding him impossibly close as he pulled almost all the way out. Brendon’s grip around his hand tightened, head falling back against Spencer’s shoulder and a low drawn-out moan breaking from his lips as Spencer pushed back inside.

“Fuck,” Brendon gasped, biting his lip. His free hand, still warm and slightly damp with oil, pressed into Spencer’s thigh, gripping so tightly that Spencer was sure there would be bruises in the morning. He pressed himself harder into Spencer’s lap, and Spencer responded by tightening his hold on him.

“Stay still a moment,” he mumbled into Brendon’s neck, gently guiding Brendon forward until they were both on their knees with Brendon supporting himself on his right hand, Spencer still lined up along his back.

Spencer withdrew again, then pushed forward quickly. This time, Brendon keened, his left hand desperately holding onto Spencer’s as his right hand scrambled for purchase. “Yes, Christ, yes. _Spencer_.”

Brendon’s spine arched prettily in the lamplight, and Spencer slid his free hand down his back, forefinger tracing the shadows cast on his skin.

Together, they found a new pace, one of push and pull, faster then slower, quick snaps of the hips followed by long, languid thrusts until Spencer could barely think straight and Brendon was babbling incoherently.

When Spencer’s hand finally found its way to Brendon’s dick, curling around it and gripping it firmly, Brendon’s arm gave, and his face pressed into the sheets as he gasped.

Spencer kissed the space between Brendon’s shoulder blades and twisted his hand as he slid deep into Brendon again, and Brendon came on a hitched groan, warm liquid pooling into Spencer’s hand. His body tightened in its climax, incredibly so, and Spencer’s vision went white for a second as he followed Brendon over the edge.

They stayed like that for a moment, Spencer pressed all along Brendon’s back and Brendon breathing heavily into the tousled sheets. At last, Brendon’s hand squeezed his, and Spencer noticed for the first time that the lace surrounding their hands was tingling slightly, just as it had when they’d first been married.

“Up,” Brendon said, and Spencer complied, carefully bringing Brendon up with him. They eased the lace off their joined hands, and Spencer noted with relief that it had turned a deep gold colour, similar to the new rings on their fingers.

“It worked. Look.”

Brendon took the lace from him and ran it through his fingers, eyes sparkling. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

Spencer felt something constrict in his chest, the familiar surge of guilt receding in the face of Brendon’s smile. Brendon yawned, unsuccessfully trying to smother it with his hand before leaning back against Spencer.

Spencer smiled. “Tired?”

Brendon nodded sleepily, allowing Spencer to coax him beneath the comforter. Spencer moved in close, not thinking about the fact that Brendon had his own bed, which he might prefer given that they’d thoroughly ruined the sheets. Brendon was warm and pliable next to him, and judging by the quiet, steady breaths coming from him as soon as his head hit the pillows, Spencer figured Brendon wasn’t exactly unhappy with where he’d ended up.

  


  
The first thing Brendon became aware of when he woke up the next morning was that his left arm was twisted above his head in a weird angle, pins and needles shooting through it painfully. He looked up; Spencer’s hand was still covering his. Brendon smiled and turned around, keeping their hands together while carefully bringing their arms down until they were resting in a more comfortable position.

Next to him, Spencer was still sleeping. Brendon smiled again, memories from the previous night replaying in his mind.

He moved the sheet back a little, taking the time to really look at his husband for the first time. Last night, he hadn’t had time to take everything in—losing the details in the overwhelming wave of impressions and feelings that had all seemed to pull at his attention at once.

He put his hand on Spencer’s chest—stroking lightly, so as not to wake him—and let himself just soak everything in. Spencer’s skin was fair and smooth, pulled tight over the flat of his stomach and sprinkled with hair that started at his belly button and disappeared in a dark trail under the edge of the sheet. Brendon moved his hand lower, letting it follow the trail out of sight and unable to repress a shudder when the side of his palm came up against warm, smooth flesh.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, Brendon pushed the sheet down a little more and moved his hand to lightly circle the base of Spencer’s dick. It was already more than half-hard—same as Brendon’s when he woke up in the morning—and as Brendon started to move his hand, he could see it fill out even more, growing under his fingers while Brendon watched, fascinated.

He moved his hand a little faster, trying out things he’d discovered on himself in guilty moments growing up, and biting down around a moan when he moved the pad of his thumb over the head and felt a bead of wetness there, begging to be spread around.

Spencer moved in his sleep, making a warbled sound, and Brendon stiffened, starting to carefully remove his hand.

Spencer stopped him.

Brendon looked up, blushing furiously. Spencer was looking back at him with dark eyes, breathing uneven as he tightened his grip on Brendon’s wrist.

“Don’t stop.”

Brendon let out a shaky breath and did as told, moaning when Spencer urged his hand to move faster. He leaned in for a kiss, grateful when Spencer met him half-way, letting go of Brendon’s wrist to grab his hip and pull them flush together. One of his thighs came up, and Brendon parted his legs eagerly, groaning into Spencer’s mouth as the thigh started rocking against him.

They didn’t last long, collapsing half on top of each other in a sticky mess of tangled limbs a lot sooner than either of them would have wanted. The kisses eventually slowed down to something sleepy and uncoordinated, and Brendon was just contemplating dozing off again when there was a firm knock on the door to the outer chamber.

He groaned softly, letting go of Spencer’s hand before pulling on the robe he’d worn the night before and forcing himself from the comfort of the warm bed.

He quickly ran his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat, trying not to look as obviously sated as he felt. By the look on the messenger’s face when he finally opened the door, he’d failed spectacularly.

“From King Peter, my lord,” the messenger mumbled, bowing as he handed Brendon an envelope and hastily left.

Seeing the elegant scrawl of King Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III on the front of the letter set a tight knot in Brendon’s stomach. He broke the wax seal and skimmed over the content as he walked back into the bed chamber.

“What does it say?”

Brendon looked up from the letter, smiling tightly at Spencer, who was sitting up in bed, the sheets pooling around his waist. “We’re to go before the king at noon.”

Spencer nodded, the peaceful smile he’d had on his face when Brendon had left him gone. “Good. Let’s get ready, then. We should have all of this settled by dinner.”

Brendon couldn’t help but think that something in Spencer’s voice didn’t sound as sure as he was pretending to be.

  


  
They stayed in their chambers until it was time to go. Mentally preparing themselves, Spencer wanted to call it, but if he was to be honest with himself, the real reason was closer to hiding.

A group of servants brought them breakfast and prepared their clothes, bustling around them as they sat on opposite ends of a table made for eight, trying to keep a normal conversation going.

“I was talking to Zack the other day,” Brendon said. “He said the crops are growing really well. Looks like we’ll have a good harvest.”

Spencer nodded, buttering a piece of bread to have something to do with his hands. “The orchards are looking exceptionally well, too. We’ll have apples and plums before long.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Spencer took a sip of his tea, glancing at the clock on the wall out of the corner of his eyes. Still two hours to go.

On the opposite end of the table, he saw Brendon do the same, before putting down his napkin and getting to his feet. “I’m going to take a bath.”

“Okay,” Spencer said. “I think the servants already brought water. It should be ready for you.”

Brendon hesitated for a moment, biting his lip. “It’s a big tub.”

Spencer swallowed, a now familiar heat starting to pool in his stomach. “It is.”

Brendon tilted his head, as though to say, _then come here already_. Spencer gestured to one of the servants to start clearing the table and got to his feet, following Brendon into the next room.


	6. Chapter 6

  


  


  


“Lord Smith, I have called you here today due to a matter with your recent marriage,” the king said. “A petition has been submitted contesting its legality, so first, I would like to ask both of you: did you, at the time of your wedding, know of any reason that would prevent you from entering into this union?”

“Your Majesty,” Spencer said. “I did not at the time, but after receiving your summons, I realised it was not properly witnessed. My husband and I hope that we can show Your Majesty that there were extenuating circumstances for why it needed to take place in the way it did, however.”

King Peter frowned, looking first at Spencer, then at Brendon and lastly to one of his advisers seated along the side of the room. “Not properly witnessed?” he asked. “From what I could see of your license, it was signed by the requisite two witnesses as well as an ordained vicar.”

“Yes, but not by Your Majesty,” Spencer replied. “I thought—isn’t that why you have called us here today?”

King Peter sent him a sceptical look and made a sign to one of the servants. “I’m afraid that it’s a lot more serious than that,” he said. “Rosings, please state your case.”

A jolt ran straight through Spencer’s spine, and the attending courtiers mumbled their confusion as George Ross, the Duke of Rosings stepped apart from their company.

Brendon pressed a nervous hand to Spencer’s forearm, leaning toward him to whisper, “Spencer, what’s going on?” Spencer shook his head in reply, a sense of apprehension starting up at the back of his head.

“This,” Ryan’s father declared, holding up an official-looking parchment to the crowd, “is a contract signed by my son, George Ryan Ross III, and the Marquess of Summerlin on the marquess’s eighteenth birthday. A contract confirming the betrothal that was set up for them at an early age and declaring the two of them engaged to be married.”

King Peter turned to Spencer. “Did you sign such a contract?”

“I did,” Spencer said. “But it was dissolved later. Lord Ryan and I reached the decision that we no longer wished to enter into the match and had it declared null and void.”

“Do you have the contract dissolving the engagement?”

“No,” Spencer said. “I don’t. Lord Ryan kept it.”

“I assure you, Your Majesty,” the duke said firmly, “my son would never do such a thing. Apart from the obvious reason that it would directly disobey my wishes, giving up the match to the Marquess of Summerlin would prevent him from gaining the funds he needs to import rare items from both Asia and the colonies—a project I know for a fact is still underway.”

“And you don’t think I’d be willing to lend him the money, regardless?” Spencer asked heatedly. “You’ve known the particulars of my family’s happy situation for a long time, Your Grace. Rosings has always been able to rely on Summerlin in the past. Not having a marriage between our families wouldn’t change that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” the duke said, giving Brendon a dirty look. “Regardless, unless proven otherwise, you are engaged to my son. Which means this... new marriage of yours is null and void on the grounds of an existing pre-contract.”

“The contract was dissolved,” Spencer insisted. “I swear it on my honour.”

“And why would my son make such a rash decision?” Lord Ross asked. “What reason could he possibly have?”

“It is not my place to tell.”

“Which is the same as to say there wasn’t one,” the duke declared triumphantly. “Your Majesty, I think I’ve presented all the evidence I need.”

“Lord Smith,” the king said seriously. “Do you have witnesses to this dissolution you’re talking about? Witnesses you can bring before the court to testify in your favour?”

Spencer stayed silent for a long time, and when he finally looked up at the king, the expression on his face was one of quiet defeat. “I have witnesses, yes. But I can’t bring them in front of the court at present.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a sensitive matter,” Spencer said simply. “If you would allow me, Your Majesty, I would like to write to Lord Ryan. He will, no doubt, be able to collaborate my story.”

“Very well,” King Peter said. “You have three days. At the end of that time, I will review all evidence presented by both sides and make a ruling. Lord Urie may keep his title and place in your quarters in the meantime.”

Brendon’s hand pressed once more into Spencer’s arm. It was an intimate gesture, too intimate in front of the present court, but Brendon was obviously distressed. And it was Spencer’s duty as his husband to comfort him.

Spencer’s hand came up to cover Brendon’s and squeezed reassuringly. He bowed. “Thank you. I’ll send out a messenger immediately, Your Majesty.”

  


  


Brendon was exhausted. As Spencer led him back to the Summerlin quarters, he felt himself longing for the bed that they’d shared the night before and to never have to wake up again. There were too many questions and conflicts swirling in his head, however, and he bit his lip to keep from just blurting everything he was thinking out, right in the middle of the halls where anyone could hear them.

If Spencer’s situation was what he’d told Brendon it was, there couldn’t be any money to lend to a project of Ryan’s. And while Brendon could picture Spencer keeping his misfortune a secret from the court in general, he couldn’t quite believe that the Duke of Rosings would go as far as to contest Spencer’s marriage in front of the king if he wasn’t sure there was something to gain from it.

Had Spencer lied to him all this time?

No matter how he twisted it, Brendon couldn’t come up with a reason for Spencer to do such a thing. Poverty was humiliating for a lord to admit to and not something someone like Spencer would do on a whim. It just made no sense.

Finally, they made it to their rooms, Spencer unlocking the door and holding it open for Brendon before shutting it behind them.

Spencer breathed a deep sigh, falling into an armchair limply. “Well, that was interesting.”

“It was,” Brendon agreed, biting his lip. “The duke was worryingly convincing.”

Spencer shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll send an express to Ryan, and we’ll have all the evidence we need to prove the contract was mutually voided.”

Brendon nodded, pulling off his jacket and folding it onto the bed, smoothing it. “What about the rest of it?”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“You’re poor,” Brendon stated bluntly. “Or so you told me. Except that doesn’t make sense, because how could you still be funding expensive projects of Ryan’s if you were? And doing so without even telling me about it.”

Spencer took a step forward. “Brendon, I—”

“Exactly how much are you really worth?”

Spencer bit his lip, looking away. Silence spread out between them. Brendon held his breath.

“Eighty thousand a year. Give or take.”

Brendon felt his jaw drop. “ _Eighty thousand pounds?_. A _year_. God, that’s—” He broke off, putting numbers together in his head and feeling himself grow suddenly furious. “My _entire fortune_ isn’t even half of that.”

“Yes, but Brendon, I—”

“No,” Brendon snapped, pulling away. “No, I don’t want to hear it. You’ve lied to me. For _months_.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Spencer insisted. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, it was just—”

“Did you think I was stupid?” Brendon threw back. “That I wouldn’t figure it out?”

“Of course not! I wanted to tell you. I—”

“What? You didn’t find the right time? When we met that night, Spencer, _that_ would have been the right fucking time!”

“I _know_ that. I know I never should have pretended to be something I wasn’t. But please be reasonable! You were leaving the country. There was _no time_ , and I was desperate to—”

“To what?” Brendon almost shouted. “To find someone who’d marry you?” He stopped short, a terrible possibility entering his mind. “When exactly did you and Ryan dissolve your engagement?”

Spencer visibly paled in front of him, and the sick feeling starting to build in Brendon’s stomach grew stronger. “That has—Brendon, that is not relevant. What’s important is that—”

“ _What date?_ ” Brendon shouted, moving into Spencer’s space on instinct, pushing him back. “Tell me the date!”

“April 29,” Spencer said quietly.

Brendon turned away, blinking angrily at the hot wetness suddenly prickling at the corner of his eyes.

Spencer’s hand came up to stroke his arm. “Brendon...”

“No,” Brendon said, pulling away from the touch. “No. Just. Don’t touch me.”

“Brendon, please.”

“You married me the same day as you broke off your engagement,” Brendon said, swallowing hard against the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. “You lied to me to make me feel better about my station so that I would agree to the match. And you’ve lied to me ever since! While apparently giving _your fiance_ —who still spends _a lot of time_ at your estate—vast amounts of money behind my back. All while I’ve been worrying about the crops being good enough to let us make it through winter! So tell me, Spencer, how exactly would you like me to act to be _reasonable_ about that?”

He left the room before Spencer had the chance to answer, slamming the door to the second bedroom so hard the nearby window shook with it. Spencer came after him—of course he did—banging on the door and pleading with Brendon to let him in.

Brendon slumped against the wall, letting Spencer’s excuses wash over him without hearing them. They were just words. Meaningless in comparison and not doing anything to make Brendon feel better. He choked on a sob.

He couldn’t believe he’d woken up that morning thinking the world was beautiful.

A long time later, he turned around and unlocked the door, opening it slowly and blocking the gap with his body. Spencer immediately started to speak. Brendon shook his head, pressing two fingers against Spencer’s lips softly before letting his hand fall.

“Just tell me one thing,” he said, steeling himself and raising his chin, meeting Spencer’s eyes. “Last night, was that your first time?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Spencer said urgently. “Brendon, _no_ , don’t even think that. I could _never—_ ”

He cut himself off, looking back at Brendon with something broken in his eyes. “I could never be untrue to you.”

Brendon closed his eyes, feeling tears burn hot behind his eyelids. Something eased a little in his chest, but it didn’t take away the underlying sickness. Unfaithful or not, Spencer’s lies were still there, and right now, Brendon just couldn’t make himself forgive them.

With one last look at Spencer, he took a step back and closed the door.

  


  
Brendon didn’t speak to Spencer for two days. Mostly, he locked himself in the second bedroom, pretending not to hear when Spencer knocked. He took a lot of walks too, leaving their chambers without comment on where he was going or when he would be back, as though Spencer had somehow turned invisible.

Spencer spent most of his time in their chambers as well. He’d sent off an express to Ryan as quickly as he could and was now waiting for a response or, even better, for Ryan to turn up at court himself and help Spencer fix the mess that Ryan, originally, had got them both into.

Also, he wanted to be where Brendon could easily find him, should Brendon change his mind and decide to talk to him again. It might not have been the most dignified thing to do, but after spending two days and nights missing Brendon like crazy and trying to apologise in a million different ways, Spencer figured dignity was vastly overrated.

A messenger finally arrived late on the evening before the king’s deadline, and Spencer read Ryan’s note with relief, noting it had been sent from an inn only half a day’s travel away from court. Especially as Ryan assured him in it that he hadn’t forgotten to bring their paperwork.

Spencer closed the note and rose from his chair with newly-found determination. Angry or not, Brendon was still married to him, and the ruling King Peter made the next day—whatever it might be—would greatly impact their lives. He walked over to Brendon’s door and knocked. No answer. When the second knock got the same result, Spencer put his ear to the door. Nothing.

Spencer frowned and checked his pocket watch. It was late; even if Brendon had gone down to dinner in the main hall, he should have been back hours ago. He put a hand on the doorknob, expecting it to be locked. The door opened easily, leaving Spencer looking into an empty bedroom. There were no lights lit anywhere, suggesting that Brendon must have been gone from it since some time in the afternoon.

Something cold grabbed hold of Spencer’s spine as he quickly checked Brendon’s coat rack and wardrobe. His regular clothes were still in place, but both his jacket and boots were gone. Spencer looked to the window. A heavy storm was coming in, already sending a light rain to tap against the glass as large black clouds rolled across the sky. If Brendon was out in the gardens and got caught in it...

Not wasting any time, Spencer hurried back into his own room. He pulled on his plainest boots and found a wool overcoat at the back of his closet to put over his clothes before heading out. He’d find a lantern on the way.

  


  
Brendon was sitting by a pond, idly throwing pebbles at the water when the rain started. At first, he didn’t mind it; his jacket was thick enough to keep him decently dry, and the rain against his face was light. When the wind started up, however, things became a lot more unpleasant, and soon, the rain was pelting down on him, getting under his clothes and chilling him to the bone.

He tried to keep his jacket up to protect his face, cursing himself for heading so far out into the grounds and not bringing any kind of light with him. A streak of lightning crossed the sky, followed by almost immediate thunder. Brendon thought of the metal details decorating his jacket and picked up his pace. This was not good.

The rain thickened until Brendon could barely see five yards in front of him, and the lightning and thunder sounded worryingly close. Brendon looked around frantically, searching for somewhere he could go to hide from the storm and wait it out. His eyes fell on something white to his left, and he hurried over. It was a small gazebo, beautifully embellished and covered in white flowers that climbed all over the walls and roof. Brendon gratefully ducked inside, removing his jacket and trying to wring some of the water out of it.

Now he really wished he’d brought some sort of heat source. A fire-dwelling pet salamander would have been nice. Or his dog. Fuck, Brendon really missed his dog.

He was just about to sit down on the floor and really feel sorry for himself when he spotted a light bobbing around somewhere in the distance. Considering the heaviness of the rain, it couldn’t be too far off. Brendon decided it was at least worth a shot.

“Hey!”

The light flickered and changed direction, moving closer. Brendon called out again, more urgently this time and the light picked up speed.

“Brendon!”

Brendon froze. That was Spencer’s voice, _Spencer_ coming towards him with the light, out in the rain looking for him in a freaking storm. With whatever light-device he was carrying that was probably practically _inviting_ lightning to come down and strike him. A moment later, Spencer stepped into the small space, soaked from head to toe and carrying a fucking carriage lantern. Brendon saw red.

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Looking for you!” Spencer threw back, clearly angry as well. “If you hadn’t noticed, there’s a storm happening out there. You could catch a chill and die.”

“So could _you_ ,” Brendon pointed out. “And I was doing fine. I don’t know why you even bothered.”

“Obviously, it’s because I’m such a lying, black-hearted rake,” Spencer said sarcastically. “I’ve been trying to apologise to you for _two days_. If you’d just _listen_ , I could—”

“You could what?” Brendon asked. “Explain things? Tell me it was all a misunderstanding?”

“It _is_ a misunderstanding!” Spencer threw back, sounding exasperated. “It wasn’t—”

“Really?” Brendon spat. “I _misunderstood_ you telling me a dragon had ravaged your lands and left you impoverished? Or you telling me that my family’s funds would get us through the harvest? Or, wait, how about seeing Greta help sneak Ryan in through the back door and then finding the two of you alone in your study? Maybe _that’s_ the part that—”

“For heaven’s sake, _yes_ ,” Spencer shouted. “I lied to you about the money. I’m _sorry_. And I’m even sorrier I didn’t tell you about having been engaged to Ryan, but anyone who knows us could tell you that Ryan and I have _never_ had a more intimate relationship than what is normal between friends. We were betrothed as children and went along with the engagement because it gave us freedom to do what we wanted without having to worry about the pressure of everyone we met considering one of us a potential match. We never intended to go through with the marriage. That I ran into you on the night when we finally signed the dissolution papers was completely coincidental!”

Spencer closed his mouth, looking suddenly tired. Brendon took a step back, resisting the urge to reach out and comfort him.

His head was spinning, too many feelings and thoughts in it at once. He tried to find the anger in it, needing something clear and bright to focus on to keep himself from crumbling.

“Well, I don’t like being manipulated,” he tried. “You had no right to lie to me when it affected the biggest choice of my life.”

“Your parents were already taking away that choice,” Spencer said tightly. “I was just trying to help us both.”

“Yeah, well, they’re my family,” Brendon retorted, putting as much venom as he could into his voice. “And at least they loved me enough not to lie about what they were doing and why.”

“I didn’t mean to lie!”

“Well, you still did. And you know what? You can take your fucking pity and—”

“I was desperate!” Spencer shouted. “You were leaving. I didn’t know what else to do!”

“Why would you even have cared?”

“Of course I cared, you—”

“How can you possibly say that? You barely even _knew_ me then!”

“But I was still in love with you!”

A flash of lightning darted through the sky, lighting up the gazebo and allowing Brendon a clear view of Spencer’s stricken face.

“You... _what_?”

“I—,” Spencer stammered, quickly turning his head to the side. “Forgive me, I—”

He started turning away, like he needed to get out and couldn’t move fast enough. Brendon grabbed his arm.

“Wait!”

Spencer fisted his hands, his jaw set tightly. “I fell stupidly in love with you the moment I saw you and couldn’t bear for you to disappear to another continent or marry someone else. And I thought that if I could just get you to agree to a marriage, maybe eventually, I could make you happy. There. That’s my whole sinister plot. I’m _sorry._ Happy now?”

Thunder coursed through the sky, humming over Brendon’s skin. He raised a hand to Spencer’s face. “Spencer.”

“Don’t,” Spencer said, flinching away like Brendon had been about to strike him. “Just don’t, all right? I don’t need—”

“Stop talking.”

“You were the one who had to bring it up!” Spencer shot back. “If you hadn’t—”

Brendon didn’t let him finish, fisting his hands instead in Spencer’s hair to yank him down to Brendon’s level and crush their lips together. Heat soared through him, propelling his body forward until he had Spencer’s body pushed up flat against the gazebo wall.

Spencer’s hands came up to grip Brendon’s waist, pressing so hard that Brendon knew there would be finger shaped bruises there in the morning. The thought sent more heat pooling low in his belly, and he pressed himself closer, hands moving from Spencer’s hair to push desperately at his overcoat.

“Shit,” Spencer muttered, the word a warm puff of air against Brendon’s lips before his mouth was back, kissing Brendon harder. He started pulling Brendon’s jacket off, and Brendon made a grateful sound in the back of his throat, shrugging it off quickly and going for Spencer’s jacket and vest. His fingers slipped on the buttons, wet material clinging stubbornly to where it was, refusing to cooperate. Brendon groaned in frustration.

“Why are there so many pieces of clothing, Christ,” he muttered as he kept fumbling with the jacket, vest and shirt in turn, desperately trying to push the fabric out of the way in search for skin.

Spencer laughed low, hot and infuriating all at once, and Brendon bit down at the skin Spencer’s loosened cravat had exposed in retaliation.

Another flash of lightning crossed the sky, fuelling the urgency between them. Spencer was yanking gracelessly at his shirt now, pulling it over Brendon’s head and bringing it down before Brendon could get his arms free, trapping both Brendon’s hands effectively behind his back and pulling him even closer. His knee came up to push between Brendon’s own, and Brendon let out a startled moan when Spencer’s thigh pressed up against him, feeling his own knees go suddenly weak.

He dropped shakily to the floor, yanking his hands free and pulling at Spencer’s pants, feeling a surge of relief run through him when he got them open and could finally get close enough, filling his senses with all things Spencer as he opened his mouth and got a first taste.

“ _Brendon_ ,” Spencer gasped, his head tilting back against the wall. “God.”

Brendon pressed his tongue against the head of Spencer’s cock. Something hot and bright was surging up inside him, making him desperate for Spencer to know what this meant to him, how the sudden fear of almost losing this was strong enough to choke him. He grabbed Spencer’s hands and placed them on the back of his head, wanting to feel Spencer fill him and claim him and make sure Brendon would feel it for days. Wanting to make him _remember_.

Spencer obliged him, curling his fingers into Brendon’s hair and tugging, and Brendon made a happy little sound in the back of his throat, overwhelmed by the feeling of Spencer’s cock in his mouth, its unfamiliar, heavy drag along the length of his tongue. He went deeper on instinct, sucking harder and wanting more, and Spencer’s hips jerked in response, a little too hard.

Tears stung at the corners of Brendon’s eyes as he pulled off, coughing. Above him, Spencer stuttered an apology. Brendon barely registered it, waving Spencer off between coughs and swiping his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve before grabbing Spencer’s hips again, thumbs settling in the dips of his hipbones, and took in as much as he could, then, slower, a little more and a little more until finally he’d taken in all of him.

Spencer shuddered, trying desperately to keep his hips still.

Brendon stayed like that a moment, then pulled off slowly, his heart speeding up at how absolutely gone Spencer already looked, mouth red and open, gasping, cheeks flushed. He was still only half undressed, clothes in an utter state of disarray. He looked absolutely criminal.

Brendon palmed himself through still-damp trousers. God, he needed this so much.

His hands tightened on Spencer’s hips, drawing another moan from him. Spencer spread his legs wider moving helplessly into Brendon’s touch as Brendon started to stroke his thighs, very nearly gagging him again as one of Brendon’s hands ran up the inside of one and brushed against his ass.

Brendon pulled off a second time and reached for his own belt, groaning in frustration when he couldn’t get it open fast enough. Spencer dropped to his knees beside him, kicking at his own trousers and trying to get Brendon’s off at the same time. One of Brendon’s legs finally came free, letting him spread his legs and pull Spencer down on top of him.

They both moaned as their hips lined up, moving against each other desperately. More apologies were breaking from Spencer’s lips, and Brendon muffled them with kisses, trying to push a few of his own back into Spencer’s mouth.

He reached for Spencer’s fingers, taking them into his mouth and getting them wet. Spencer shuddered above him, and Brendon bit back a whine as Spencer pulled his fingers out and reached down between them. He raised his hips, straining for contact, letting out another impatient sound when none came.

Above him, Spencer moaned.

“Are you..?” Brendon strained his neck, pulling away from Spencer’s mouth to try to get a better view. “Spence. God. What—”

“Want you,” Spencer murmured against his neck. “Want to feel what you felt. Brendon, please.”

Brendon reached back and found Spencer’s hand, tracing a finger around the one Spencer was pushing into himself and feeling his mind black out for a minute. He rolled Spencer over on his back, taking two fingers on his right hand into his mouth, experimentally, wetting them with his tongue before moving one between Spencer’s legs, pressing tentatively against his entrance.

Spencer gasped, gripping Brendon’s hair with his free hand. Brendon bit his lip hard to keep himself in control and pushed one finger in next to Spencer’s.

The fit was incredibly tight, and Brendon found himself desperate to know if Spencer had ever done this before, images of Spencer lying back on his bed, pleasuring himself, immediately flooding his mind and making him that much harder. When he felt Spencer start to finally relax around them, he hid a grin against the smooth skin of Spencer’s hip and crooked his own finger. Spencer jerked, panting.

Brendon smiled up at him. “Good?”

Spencer swallowed hard, nodding.

“Good.” Brendon withdrew both their hands and crawled on top of him, waging war on Spencer’s remaining clothes, then his own, until they were both finally naked, hot skin to skin. Spencer leaned up to kiss him, desperate and needy, and Brendon responded in kind, licking his way into Spencer’s mouth.

He never wanted to not be kissing Spencer again.

Brendon hooked one of Spencer’s legs over the crook of his elbow and moved his hand back down, working a finger back into Spencer, then two and three before pulling out and trying to get himself as wet as he could before aligning himself with Spencer’s entrance, pushing just the head of his cock into him.

Spencer cried out into Brendon’s mouth, hands moving up to dig into Brendon’s shoulders painfully as Brendon eased into him, inch by inch.

It took every bit of Brendon’s willpower not to just start thrusting as hard and fast as he wanted, but he managed, if only barely. He waited a moment for Spencer to adjust to him before pulling out a bit, then slowly pushing back in. “Okay?”

Spencer opened his eyes, his normally blue irises so dark they looked almost black. “Move.”

Brendon managed a shaky nod and leaned down to kiss him.

They managed to set up a pace, slow, if a little jerky—Spencer was so fucking tight, Jesus—and Spencer squirmed beneath him, nails digging into Brendon’s skin when he hit just the right angle. “There. Fuck, right there.”

Brendon kept his position, rolling his hips to his that same spot, and Spencer pushed down to meet him.

“Shit,” Brendon muttered, pressing his face into Spencer’s neck to keep himself together. The pace quickened, though Brendon was unsure of which of them initiated the change, and he wedged his hand between them desperately to grip Spencer’s dick, twisting his wrist in a way that Spencer seemed particularly fond of, from the utterly sinful noises he was making.

Spencer came first, hot and sticky between them, and Brendon was only a few moments behind him, hips stuttering as his vision blurred out, bright white filling his vision. When he came to, he found himself collapsed on top of Spencer, breathing heavily. He never wanted to move again.

“I love you,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the skin of Spencer’s shoulder.

Spencer looked up at him, utter shock filling his face. Brendon leaned in and kissed him, pressing the words into Spencer’s mouth until the lips beneath his curled into a smile and Spencer’s hand came up to tangle in his hair, angling their faces for a deeper kiss.

Lightning flashed in the distance, lighting up the gazebo for a moment. A flicker of something metallic caught Brendon’s eye, and he lifted up, reaching over Spencer and picking it up.

“What?” Spencer asked, his eyes barely still open, mouth trying to reach the sensitive spot beneath Brendon’s right ear.

“Your pocket watch. It must have fallen out of your vest pocket.” Brendon flipped it open. “It looks like it’s stopped.”

Spencer twisted his head around quickly, focusing on the object in Brendon’s hand. “Brendon—”

Brendon ducked down and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, absently twisting one of the knobs on the side of the watch with his fingers, attempting to reset it.

A slow, tinkling melody filled the room.

Brendon’s brow furrowed, as though he was looking for something in his memory that had been pushed back a long time ago. He rolled off Spencer and over on his back, holding up the watch in front of his face to get a better look. “Did you make this? Like the music boxes?”

Spencer nodded, looking suddenly nervous.

Something about the melody was calling up a feeling of excitement, of people all around him and a warm hand clasped in his. Brendon blinked, the memory clicking into place, face breaking into a wide grin. “Is that the song we danced to at the night of the coronation?” At Spencer’s confirming nod, the grin grew even wider. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

Spencer blushed, his entire face a little red. “Well, you obviously remember it too.”

Brendon laughed, bright and happy, then carefully set the watch down before kissing Spencer, pushing him back down against the wooden floor.

  


  
Spencer woke up to soft kisses against the back of his neck. For a few moments, he simply kept his eyes closed, revelling in the sensation and pretending to still be asleep. Something in his breathing must have given him away, though, because the kisses grew hotter and strong hands stroked their way up his chest, turning him onto his back and pushing him into the pillows.

Brendon’s mouth came down on his, foregoing sweet and lazy for hot and hungry. Brendon’s hand travelled down his body until it could circle under his left thigh, pushing the leg up. Spencer arched into the touch, muscles still deliciously sore from their earlier lovemaking, but somehow, that just made everything feel even better, a hint of discomfort anchoring him firmly to the reality of what had happened between them.

Brendon’s hand stopped touching him for a moment and then came back slick and warm, touching Spencer carefully as he spread the oil around, adding to the wetness that still lingered between his legs. Their kisses grew wetter and deeper as Brendon shifted his weight, brushing against Spencer’s entrance with the tip of his cock.

Spencer pulled his legs up higher.

  


  
“How much time?” Brendon found himself asking for what must have been the fifteenth time.

Spencer stopped fiddling with his cravat for a moment and pulled out his pocket watch. “Ten minutes.”

Brendon nodded, moving to stand next to Spencer in front of the mirror, pulling at strands of his hair self-consciously. Fear was pooling in his stomach, making him feel increasingly sick.

“Spencer?”

Spencer stilled beside him. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Brendon could tell that Spencer was nervous too. “Yes?”

“What happens if the king decides Ryan’s father is right?” Brendon managed to ask. “Will it—can he actually make you marry Ryan instead?”

Spencer looked away, breaking eye contact for a second while his hands went back to pull at his already perfect clothes. “Well, he is the king, and I’m his subject, so technically, he has the power to make me do anything he wants.” At Brendon’s stricken look, he quickly amended, “It would be a blatant exercise in misuse of power, though, so he wouldn’t. The king might dissolve our union as unlawful, but he can’t make me marry Ryan. Not against my consent.”

“But I thought you already signed the papers?”

“Only the engagement,” Spencer replied. “Ryan and I never got formally married, and we’ve never consummated our relationship. No matter how much Ryan’s father might will it, an engagement contract is not a marriage. It’s a bit scandalous to have one dissolved, of course, but it’s both doable and legal.”

Brendon ran a frustrated hand through his hair, breathing a sigh. “Our entire marriage has been one big scandal, from start to—” He stopped short, a sort of pained realisation at what he’d almost said passing quickly over his face.

“Brendon,” Spencer said, taking Brendon’s hand in his and stepping close enough to lean their foreheads together. “If the king dissolves our marriage today, the first thing I’ll do is ask you to marry me again. I’ll jump through whatever hoops he dictates in order to smooth Ryan father’s ruffled feathers, but I’ll keep asking, and I won’t give up unless you tell me to.”

Brendon closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. Spencer’s hands squeezed his tighter.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered. “I’ve loved you since I first met you. And I know how to wait. As long as you want me, I’ll wait forever to have you back. You’re the only one I want to be married to.”

Brendon bit his lip, nodding. Something hot was starting to burn behind his eyelids, threatening to spill over from the overwhelming wave of feelings at Spencer’s words.

“Brendon.”

Brendon looked up. Spencer’s eyes were dark. There was fear in them, and determination, and the clear message that he’d meant every word of what he’d just said.

Brendon kissed him, hard and desperate, wrapping both arms around Spencer’s neck and pulling him close enough that neither of them could breathe properly. Spencer didn’t seem to mind, kissing back with equal fervor and fisting his hands in the material of Brendon’s jacket.

They kissed until there was a sharp knock on the door, and a royal messenger stepped in, bowing politely.

“My lords,” he said, giving first Spencer, then Brendon a polite nod. “The king is ready to make a ruling.”

  


  
“In the light of the presented evidence,” King Pete declared, “I rule the engagement contracted between Viscount Ryan Ross and Marquess Spencer Smith dissolved by mutual agreement. Both parties shall be considered to have been legally available to enter into new unions, and the unions that were contracted on the same day as the initial contract was dissolved,” at this point, the king paused, looking at Spencer and Ryan with an amused smile on his face, “are to be considered legal and binding.”

The court erupted with excited chatter, but Brendon didn’t hear them. He was out of his seat before he could stop himself, throwing his arms around Spencer’s neck. Spencer hugged him back, whispering how happy he was in Brendon’s ear. Brendon noticed that both of them were shaking a little as they let go, unable to stop smiling at each other.

“That is outrageous!” Ryan’s father exclaimed, breaking through Brendon’s happy daze and standing up from his seat, his expression livid. “My son’s betrothal to the Marquess of Summerlin was arranged when they were in their cradles! Is this to be thrown away because of some baron’s upstart son and a flight of fancy? I think not. Now, _I_ wish that—”

“My dear duke,” the king interrupted him firmly. “What is done is done. The engagement was dissolved, and both your son and Lord Smith are married elsewhere. I see no reason to annul these marriages.”

“What?” Lord Ross spluttered. “My son is _not_ married. What a preposterous idea! Ryan would _never_ —”

“I have his marriage contract among the documents in evidence,” King Pete said patiently. “Lord Ryan, if you would be so kind to perhaps keep your father a bit more informed of your affairs in the future?”

Brendon looked at Spencer, feeling his eyes go wide. Ryan was married as well? And secretly so, apparently, since neither Brendon nor, clearly, Ryan’s own father knew anything about it. He gave Spencer a pointed look, trying to convey that he’d better explain this as soon as they had a moment to themselves. Spencer had the decency to look sincerely apologetic, leaning in to put a quick kiss on Brendon’s lips before nudging his attention back towards Ryan and his father.

There was a movement at the edge of the crowd, and Brendon felt his jaw drop as the twins’ governess stepped onto the floor and walked up to Ryan, taking his offered arm and falling into a low curtsy in front of his father.

Brendon stared. Lord Ross looked from Ryan to Greta and then back in confusion, before something seemed to click in his head and his face turned a worrying shade of scarlet.

“Father,” Ryan said pleasantly, “please allow me to introduce Lady Greta Salpeter, the future Duchess of Rosings.”

“That’s why I was in town so late that night,” Spencer whispered to Brendon. “Helping Ryan Ross elope is not a simple affair. I spent ages looking for those mechanical flowers.”

In front of them, Ryan’s father glared at his son, then turned to the king. King Peter simply smiled in return to his harsh gaze. The duke clenched his jaw tightly together and exited the hall without another word. Brendon saw Greta look up at Ryan worriedly. Ryan shrugged and then smiled, leaning in to kiss her.

“If there are no more announcements or clarifications that need to be made in this case,” King Peter said, “I’d like to congratulate Viscount Ross, Lord Smith and their respective spouses. May your marriages be long and fruitful. And, Lord Smith, don’t fret so much about tradition. If I had to approve every courtship and attend every wedding that traditionally demanded it, I wouldn’t have time for my own marriage, and my husband would be most displeased. Congratulations, all four of you.”

Brendon followed Spencer’s lead as they all bowed to the king. Ryan and Greta waved to them as they left the hall, and Brendon took Spencer’s hand, leading them toward the palace gardens.

They walked hand in hand along one of the paths that were still wet with rain after the storm, letting everything sink in and solidify. Brendon felt Spencer’s hand tighten around his. When he looked up, Spencer was trying to hide a smile.

“So,” Spencer said, “we’re still married.”

“Seems like it,” Brendon replied with a shrug, persistently pushing back the answering smile he could feel wanting to spread on his own face.

“Perhaps we should celebrate,” Spencer suggested, trying to look innocent and failing completely. “Considering we never did have a wedding feast, I mean. Anything specific you’d want to do?”

Brendon stopped walking, turning Spencer toward him and pulling his head down, kissing him slow and sweet and undeniably dirty. “Well,” he said with a slow smile, smugly noting the beginnings of a flush in Spencer’s cheeks, “I guess I could think of a couple of things.”

Spencer laughed and pulled him back in.


	7. Chapter 7

  


  


  


_One year later_

Spencer huffed softly, furrowing his brow as he searched for his smallest turnscrew, cursing himself silently just one more time for insisting that he use such tiny Robertsons for this particular set of music boxes.

Of course, he hadn’t realized when he first began planning the designs for the boxes that the next few months of his life would involve working almost exclusively with one hand.

Tristan snuffled quietly into the crook of Spencer’s arm, his tiny toes curling at his slumber being disturbed so rudely by Spencer’s movements and noises of frustration.

“Sorry, sorry,” Spencer cooed, pressing Tristan more securely against his ribcage and running his fingers through the mop of golden hair swirled atop his head. When the little boy seemed satisfied with Spencer’s comforting and slipped back into a fitful sleep, Spencer breathed a sigh of relief, commencing his search for the turnscrew, if about three times slower.

There was a time when he knew where every cog and screw in his little workshop was located, but that time had long past. The last three months had been filled with bottles and nappies, crying and giggling and Tristan and Sophia, that his days of organisation had little to no sign of ever returning, especially since Tristan absolutely would not fall asleep for the new governess, Hayley. Sophia adored Hayley, and Tristan liked her well enough when it came time for baths or playing, but when it came to bedtime, only Spencer’s left elbow would do. Occasionally Brendon could get him to fall asleep cradled against him with his twin occupying Brendon’s other arm, but the occasions still seemed few and far between.

It was certainly a frustrating quirk, especially when Spencer was trying to work, but he couldn’t help but be just slightly delighted. Sophia loved everyone she came in contact with, ranging from her aunts, to the Alexes, and, of course, to Brendon and Spencer, but Tristan clearly preferred Spencer, and that fact sent a certain pride through him that only a new father could understand.

“Ah, here we are,” Spencer whispered, reaching into the back of a drawer full of scrap metal to withdraw the long searched for turnscrew.

“How are they coming along?”

Spencer glanced up at Brendon from his spot on his workbench, offering a tired smile. “They’re coming.”

Brendon leaned over his shoulder, his thumb sliding over Tristan’s chubby cheek. “I’m sure he’s not making things any easier.”

Spencer shrugged. “He’s just been sleeping.”

“If only his sister could learn do the same.” Brendon slid onto the workbench next to him, readjusting Sophia who was squirming happily in his arms. Sophia reached for the music boxes being pieced together on the table, and Brendon pulled her back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pacifier, which she dutifully grabbed but didn’t bother putting in her mouth. She preferred to just hold it and gum at the plastic handle instead. Brendon sighed, though he was smiling, and pulled dark ringlets from her face to keep her hair out of her eyes. “I think she’s just too curious about everything to bother with sleeping.”

Spencer smiled. “She’s so much like the girls were at this age. I feel like I’ve already helped raise Sophia twice.”

Brendon laughed, leaning his head against Spencer’s shoulder. “If only I’d had the privilege. This twin thing is harder than it sounded when we first talked about adopting them.”

Spencer hummed affirmation. “Having done it before doesn’t make it much easier. Trust me. Besides, Tristan is a whole different story.”

Brendon nodded, reaching for the shining curved metal that would eventually make up full mechanical flowers that would be properly pieced together to form a music box rather than just the frame that it currently was. “Is this Sophia’s? And the one with all the moving clock hands is Tristan’s?”

“That’s right. I think they’ll like them.”

Brendon sniffed. “I’m sure they will.” He lifted the lid of Sophia’s music box and seemed disappointed that the music hadn’t been added yet. “What songs will they play?”

Spencer felt the tips of his ears redden and lifted a set of tines from the desk. He placed it in Tristan’s half finished box, holding it in place as he twisted the key and let a slow, tinkling melody fill the room.

Brendon broke into a wide smile. “I think you might have an unhealthy obsession.”

Spencer couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly Brendon could turn his entire face red, even after more than a year of them being married. “It’s from when we met. I thought it was appropriate.”

“My lord, I believe the babies have effectively turned you into a ball of warm fluff.” Brendon snickered, leaning in and pressing a kiss firmly to the corner of Spencer’s mouth.

Spencer returned the kiss, then leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Sophia’s head. She looked up at him with softened blue eyes, her head falling back against Brendon’s chest. He smiled at her, his heart aching in a way that he was beginning to be accustomed to when one of his children was falling asleep or laughing or reaching for him. “Looks like it’s about time for bed, huh, Sophia?”

“Sounds about right. All right, Sophia, bedtime for the little lady.” Brendon adjusted her again, cradling her in his arms to get up from the bench, then extending his hand to help Spencer up as well. “Come on, Spencer. The music boxes will be waiting in the morning, and you know the twins sleep better if they’re both in their crib.”

Spencer nodded, taking Brendon’s hand and allowing himself to be helped up. It was late, and Sophia would be wide awake in half an hour if they didn’t take this moment of sleepiness and run with it.

They tucked the babies into their beds, taking care to wrap them in their blankets tightly. Sophia’s eyelashes fluttered softly against her cheeks for all of five minutes before she curled toward Tristan and fell asleep. Tristan made quiet, disappointed sounds when Spencer first laid him down but didn’t stir again after that. Moonlight streamed through the gauzy curtains of the window behind their crib, bathing the twins in soft, ethereal light.

After a moment, Brendon wrapped his hand around Spencer’s, tugging him gently toward the door and their chambers across the hall. Spencer was more comfortable leaving the twins in their room than he used to be, but he certainly still didn’t like it. But Brendon’s hand was pulling him, and he followed freely.

When the twins’ door quietly clicked shut behind Brendon, he smiled at Spencer. His eyes were tired, with light purple pressed beneath them. A parental rite of passage, Greta had informed them on one of the Ross family’s still-frequent visits, bouncing the newest Ross, baby Rosalyn, on her lap.

Spencer returned his smile, knowing full well that his own eyes matched Brendon’s as he brought up his hands to frame Brendon’s face, thumbs sliding over the purple. Brendon closed his eyes, his eyelashes whispering against the tips of Spencer’s fingers.

Spencer leaned down, unable to help himself, and kissed him. Brendon’s body responded to his in kind, pressing close as his hands came up to loosen Spencer’s cravat, slowly pushing until Spencer took a step back, then another, and another, until Spencer’s back was pressed against the bedroom door.

Brendon drew back then, eyes a little brighter than before as he peered up at Spencer, biting his lip as he twisted the door handle, then wrapped his hands around Spencer’s, squeezing them before guiding them down to lead Spencer into the bedroom.

Spencer let himself be led, the door shutting softly behind them.

  



End file.
